


Nameless Lake

by MotherOfPorgs



Category: Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types, Friday the 13th Series (Movies), Friday the 13th: The Game (Video Game)
Genre: 2009 Remake, Baby Animals, Beauty and the Beast, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Blood and Gore, Canon Rewrite, Developing Relationship, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Jason Voorhees - Freeform, Jason Voorhees x Whitney Miller, Native American lore, POV Alternating, POV Third Person, Romance, Slow Burn, Supernatural - Freeform, Swearing, Undead Jason, Washington State forest, Whitney has a big heart, Whitney rewrite, Witches, a little because im not good at researching, big hearted jason, forest, good pamela voorhees, healing lake, ill mother, inexperienced female lead, inexperienced male lead, jason is a good boy, jason is as softy, moutains, outgoing female lead, shy male lead, supernatural jason, unknown lake, violance, woods
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:27:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 61,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23131684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherOfPorgs/pseuds/MotherOfPorgs
Summary: Whitney Miller thought a small vacation seemed like the right thing to do. Her ill mother insisted, after all. Yet, she couldn't deny the pull upon her heart leading back to a place she'd never been. An attack on her camp leaves her alone, an unlikely savior appearing to aid her. Now, with a common enemy to link them, they have no choice but to coexist and survive or fall victim to the creation that murdered her friends.
Relationships: Whitney Miller/Jason Voorhees
Comments: 29
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Безымянное озеро](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23998297) by [MiceLoveCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiceLoveCat/pseuds/MiceLoveCat)



> Happy Friday the 13th, everyone! So, I've been working on this for a while now but since its the perfect day to upload, I figured it should make its debut. Thanks to Infernalitae for the inspiration and luring me into this fandom. BEST. THING. EVER!  
> PSA:  
> This is a COMPLETE CANON REWRITE! There are a few canon aspects that are still there, but I decided to rewrite most of it. Whitney is essentially a better female lead, there are supernatural aspects about Jason, and some lore I dived into.  
> With that being said, I also got rid of Camp Crystal Lake because I have an unhealthy obsession with mountains and Washington State.  
> I have a full time job, but most of my chapters have already been written. This will be a LONG story with LONG chapters. I hope you all dont mind!  
> pictures from : https://unsplash.com/

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, AO3 decided to mess up the order of my chapters. So I had to post again.

**“To insult someone, we call him 'bestial. For deliberate cruelty and nature, 'human' might be the greater insult”**

**\- Isaac Asimov**

_1878_

“You are special, Jason.” His mother had always cooed. “You have a power inside you that makes you that way. I have that power as well. Use it to heal, if you can. Do not use it for evil.”

His mother, the curer, would speak those words to him as he stifled the depression and sadness welling up inside his soul. She was magical in her own right, a mender among their people who used her energy to restore the broken and fix the weak. Her soul was pure as the winter snow.

And they had slaughtered her, extinguishing that light what once blinded bright.

He sightlessly rushed through the undergrowth and tree limbs, crashing with wild intent amidst the spine laden brush. The hard branches scraped at his exposed skin, causing blood to bead and run like down the length of his arms. The pain didn’t split him, he was far too horrified for such a trivial thing. The warmth of it didn’t distract him, either. His nerves had long since numbed him to the blistering cold. All he knew was to flee, to run as fast as his muscular legs could. All the while, he couldn’t shake the heartbreaking realization having hit him not moments ago.

They had chased him from his home after they killed his mother. Their poisonous words split through the early morning air.

“You killed her, you witch!” They had roared in anger. The flickering of torchlight danced upon the pine needles hung overhead, gurgling screams ripping him from his bed. Jason had followed the screams from his home through the dense wood into a clearing. She was there, nightgown stained with dirt and the red of blood, bound to a pole amidst a violent throng of people. All heads starred down at her in judgement. Faces he knew and had known twisted in anger and contempt.

“I did nothing of the sort,” His mother spat, a trickle of crimson streaking down the corner of her mouth. He’d never seen her face so curled in anguish. “She was already gone. I could not save her.”

A large man strode forward with powerful shoulders. His rage crashed in waves as Jason watched from the cover tree shadow. With one swipe, the man harshly back handed the women. The echo of the deed rattled the people. Jason clenched his fists, but the stern look of his mother signified she knew him to be there. A warning flashed across her stoic features, emitting a much needed order.

_Run._

“The age of charming us is dying, you hag.” The man seethed. “We should have never trusted you with your wicked ways.”

“It is still all around us, the power I have.” Pamela sighed, the skin of her cheek pink. More blood rand down the side of her mouth. “You are tainting it with your own darkness. Your little girl couldn’t survive it, her sickness was too advanced. I _tried_ , Frederick. I tried so hard to save her.”

The man roared with rage, striking her harder than before. The crack sent shivers across Jason’s skin. He didn’t know how long she had been out there under their brutal torment. Dark circles under her eyes indicated she had not slept and a trickle of blood oozing from her nostrils signified she had been under the scrutiny for a while. She groaned in pain but gazed up at the towering hulk before her with more fire dancing in her eyes than the torches flickering in their hands.

“Where is your spawn, hag?” One villager asked. A woman.

“You will _not_ touch him.” She snarled. “He is long gone.”

“No, he’s not. He won’t go far from his _mommy_.” Another man mocked. “Where is he so he can watch you die.”

His mother lurched forward against the rope binding her to the pole. Ferocity Jason had never known her to possess ignited the air like a match to an oil slick. “You _will not_ touch him, you monsters.”

Her eyes strayed toward the shadows of the trees. Jason crumbled under the torment and agony riddled within her eyes. However, as she gazed at him, the others noticed as well. She cursed herself for allowing her desperate pleas to become discovered. Heads turned toward his dark spot, rooting him there. Without hesitating, the large man who had hit Pamela lurched forward toward Jason.

“Run, Jason!” His mother screamed.

Something rang across the dawn, the glint of a sharp object. Its song echoed through him, forever branding his mind with its silvery death sentence. Someone roared and a sickening noise split the morning air. Jason witnessed the swipe of the object cut clean through his mother’s throat, severing the head upon her shoulder. It plunged to the ground with a sickening thud and she fell limply against her bindings. Dead.

Jason didn’t have time to mourn. His shock threatened to root him in the darkness, but in an instant, the largest men broke from the crowd and descended upon him in droves of rage and fire. He turned on his heel, bare feet slipping slightly in the leaf strewn mud. As hard as he could, he flew up the neighboring hill and down toward the cover of the trees where he found himself blindly attempting to find his way once again.

They were murderers, slayers of innocent life, their intention illuminated like a lantern through glass. He should have seen the signs and listened to his gut. He didn’t, though. He was only just a child. A longing for companionship from the others and to be part of something he always wanted to be clouded the judgement he should have heeded. The thought of their betrayal was enough to send him screaming into the darkness. If only he could.

His voice had been ripped from him so many years ago when his father left. At first, the idea of never speaking again didn’t seem horrible. Yet, the more he tried as he grew older, the more the words failed to come. They just weren’t there. His mother deemed him unlike the others, but children in town declared him dumb. There were various words used to describe him, all tearing at his highly influenced heart. Still, as the years went on, no words left his lips. His mouth was but a useless tool, tongue heavy and dried like ash.

Words, he found, could never express his true emotions at that moment. Even if he tried, they still would not come. They died like she had at base of his throat.

He should have listened to her the first time. He’d been so terrified. The order written in her horror filled eyes had been there as plain as day. Yet, he found himself bound by his fear as tight as his mother had been bound to the pole. They would have burned her there had he not been watching. Still, he had witnessed her death and he felt the very fiber of his soul shredded and busted open bare to the elements.

He would have roared in anger and pain like he wished he could. Those feelings rolling and thrashing around his head caused his heart to scream. It ripped him apart, knowing people he had grown close to now were wishing him dead like his mother. He had only wanted to be their friend and gain acceptance among his neighbors. But it was too much to ask for. He was too much of a monster in their eyes.

Jason halted his flight suddenly, stopping enough just to turn and scan the area for anyone pursuing. Their torches he could see dimly through the shadows of the tees, but his hearing would aid him better. He tuned in intently, rifling through the normal noises of life to home in on the interlopers crashing through the undergrowth.

The woods he had grown to know, and love were etched into his memory from the plethora of hunting trips he had taken. He had become an expert marksman with a bow and usually never left for home without a haul. Frequently, he had supplied the village with some of the spoils. But, as he glanced back at the horrific events, he should have let them starve. All of them.

Burning rage boiled in the pit of his stomach. He clenched his fists as hard as he could, ignoring the pain his nails caused as they cut into his palm. 

They were all murders. If the image of his mother’s beheading had dug itself so deep within his mind, he couldn’t rid himself of it. Her eyes burned into his psyche, horror filled and riddled with a pain he could never shake. The same pain he felt froze his veins, ultimately causing his heart to harden just the same. The trees whispered around him while creatures skulked underneath in the dark cover of plant growth. He could hear them and sense their movements.

Jason felt cool metal against his fingertips as he shoved his numb hands into the pockets of his tattered coat. He had managed to snag the locket he’d had given for a holiday gift one year, the origins belonging to his closet friend. The one who had perished so suddenly. It’s untainted surface felt like ice, as dead as the women he loved and left back at the village. She had told him to run. He had heeded her dying wish.

_I will try to survive, mother._

The winter air found what little perforation seemed to riddle his ragged covering, his skin numbed to its bite. The snow had yet to fall that season, but he was thankful for the peace before the white blanket descended upon the land. The dried leaves still attempted to cling to the branches overhead, fluttering as the wind rustled them. The world seemed still, a stark contrast to the chaos he left in his flight.

Distance shouts broke the silence. Jason tensed, turning on his heel to run once again. They were farther away than he anticipated, but he couldn’t afford to falter. Knowing their intention and his inability to fight back, he decided against rebellion. He was vulnerable, his despair thickly slathering his brain with his incapacity to perform an unwarranted fight. His mother would have wanted him to live.

Jason was young but his body served as a belligerent disadvantage against the fallen tree trunks and dense undergrowth. To his clumsy feet, left jelly like due to his stress, everything seemed a blockade. Rotting tree trunks were difficult to vault over when, not two nights ago, had 

They were closing in on him, he could feel their anger and rage like an inferno on the back of his neck. His own pain and his own white-hot fury immensely out shined their puny act of emotion. They were fake and fowl, knowing nothing but their vanity to keep them sane. They didn’t appreciate anything other than their own desires, knowing not of the world and its beauty.

Jason erupted into a clearing. The limbs of the trees rose high into the morning sky, limbs spread like arms toward the heavens. He glanced all around him, seeing a sparkling lake spread placid in the early morning sun. He’d heard stories his mother wove about the lake and its healing properties. She used the water ceremoniously with every patient, using it upon the girl she’d tried so desperately to save. Yet, even the water did little to help. His mother had mentioned the deterioration of the girl’s soul reaching farther than what they could aid with.

The water gleamed like glass in the pink dawn and Jason strode forward in an attempt to gain ground from his attackers. He could flee to the other side and as far as he could run down the path to the next town. It seemed a logical plan, and one he didn’t hesitate to place into actions. 

It was then he spotted people coming through the thicket from the opposite side in which he had entered. Their footfalls echoed against the water as even more of them showed from all around. His heart plummeted. They had ambushed him, surrounding him from all sides. There were dogs slathered in drool, snapping at the air in front of them. They lurched forward, their leads taut in the pursuit of him. Jason stepped back, bare feet dipping into the sloppy shoreline of the lake. The mud caked cold upon his soles, sending a shot of ice to ascend his spine. He felt his pain ebb a little as his skin soaked the nourishing waters, yet he found he couldn’t focus entirely upon that. The chill raking his form did little to quell the horrid ache within his core. The loss that crept and gnawed at him, and the overwhelming sensation to flee froze his veins and blanked his mind.

There was wooden platform resting against the shoreline of the lake. Worn boards exhibited the use over many years of festivals and holiday gatherings. It extended out into the center of the calm water where the depths were unfathomable. Jason didn’t heed the potential doom that could happen if he stepped out onto it. It had not seen upkeep in so many years. Danger lurked upon the very fibers of the dock.

In an instant, they were upon him. In his moment of terror, he’d failed to move as he should have. Hands found his chilled arms and jacket. Roughly, they pushed him forward, threatening him with sharp objects and fire. The flashes of light blinded him, his arms rising in an attempt to ward off the threat. A roar of distress left his useless lips only to fall on deaf ears. They didn’t care of his feelings. As far as they knew, he had none. He was only a monster spawn of a witch. They didn’t bother searching for the details.

Wood creaked under his sore feet, sending tremors of fear up and down his spine. His body bent awkwardly as they grabbed him by the flimsy collar of his coat, wrenching him to the side to slide along the seat of his trousers. They were pulling him, dragging him as best they could toward the water. Dread fractured his soul at the thought of endless darkness among the potential aquatic grave. Tears streamed down his face while grimy hands pervaded and constrained. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t scream for help. There was nothing that could be done.

Then, he was lifted into the air and he flew. A single second lasted an eon before he crashed into the icy lake. The shock of the freezing water caused him to gasp, a lungfull of liquid chocking him. He broke the surface to breathe, only to sputter and cough. He flailed in vain, feeling his weight beginning to drag him downward into the depths. A pressure began pushing on her sternum, chills biting into his skin and eradicating what little air he had left. Slowly, he began sinking until nothing of the shoreline or the torrent of angry townsfolk could be seen. The water slipped over his head, enveloping him in a pit of cold darkness. Water closed in on all sides, deafening him with its rush. There remained nothing but quiet boiling around him.

The light above began to vanish, and with it, his own will to live. The edges of his sight blurred and blackened, his brain barely able to comprehend the immediate danger. As the oxygen from his body diminished, his thundering heart gave its last beat.

With one last blurb of bubbles, Jason Voorhees met his death in the arms of the chilly lake. Cast aside as one would cast garbage. Only to be forgotten as one would forget a simple trivial matter. He was nothing, and therefore, thrown away as such.

Amidst the limbo he found himself suspended in, Jason’s mind lingered between light and shadow. Nothing reached him. Nothing could be seen but endless gloom. A chill no longer dug into his skin to rattle his bones and crumble his core. He was stuck in a field of infinite black. Peace, however, did not reach him. He felt nothing.

However, something fluttered among the murk. It came faint as a feather light flicker of something against the shade. It called to him like siren song, brushing along his insides and bathing him with warmth. He couldn’t see it, couldn’t see anything but an endless abyss of black.

Yet, despite his lack of sight, He felt himself reach forward into the gloom. The urge to grip onto the peace and pleasure he felt he would lose enveloped his floating form. The sense of belonging he wished he processed was but a simple fingertip away, but he lost it as his resolve fell to the icy deep. Why should a sliver of peace find him among the darkness? Hadn’t he been left to perish?

He heard the sound again and as close as it could be. Words were spoken among the quiet. A buzzing of something surrounded him, keeping him aloft. The same words came in a tinkle, filling him with a sort of peace he didn’t think belonged in the darkness of death. He was reminded of his friend. The little girl had been there playing with him along the small alcove by his house. She had been his best companion, one who found him. She would bring her toys and games to keep themselves from trouble. Then, she grew ill. The once strong person he knew began crumbling physically before his eyes and Jason did his best to look over her under the protection of his mother’s healing magic. Her infection weakened her, but she still fought as best as a little girl could. Jason remembered her once shimmering veil of auburn hair dulled by the venom in her veins, her skin pale as the face of the moon, and dark circles forming under the eyes that gazed upon him so brightly before.

She had been the one to perish. She had been the one his mother had tried so hard to save.

She had been the first person to ever love him outside of his mother.

The voice left him to the darkness. In its wake, the peace he had previously felt dissipated and surrendered its position for another type of heat. It ignited down at the base of his core, erupting like a volcano into his very veins. He felt a throb of torridness pulsing like the heartbeat he didn’t possess. It spurned the icy chill upon his skin, displaced the feeling of betrayal and loss. This new feeling enveloped him entirely, leaving nothing else but its fullness.

The sensation was anger. White hot anger as deep and immense as the lake bottom he sunk to. Coils of it raged and writhed to his very soul and his eyes opened against the blackness of limbo. The little boy full of love he once knew now submitted to the beast born from hate. He could hear his mother’s pleas against the silence, see her body grow limp from the tool used to take her life. He could see their angry faces contorted with disgust, shunning him for what he was and was not. Never once did he blame his mother. Not for a second did he believe it was her fault. It was them. They had done this.

He loathed them. This detestation slowly allowed the blood to pump through his veins again. His vision returned, cold water impending upon the soft flesh of his irises. It rendered him to the cold water’s wrath as he blinked against the icy fingers raking his eyelids. He dared not breathe for the sake of his already filled lungs. However, he felt strength return to his limp appendages, the tired muscles igniting with his new anger. With a mighty push, he launched himself from the lake floor toward the frothing surface above him. Light shafted down in golden streaks, cleaving the gloom as it hissed and returned to its darkened caves. With violent kicks, he pushed himself toward the illumination.

He would kill them all. He would tear them limb from limb and leave their bodies rotting in the elements. He vowed to sate his sudden lust for blood and bone by any means necessary. They would beg for forgiveness, but he would offer them none for they had not blessed him or his mother with such a mercy. They hadn’t given his friend a chance, either. This drive propelled him as he broke the glassy surface of the lake and filled his drenched lungs with delicious air.

Jason Voorhees was reborn.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet Whitney and her Mom. Whitney decides on something that may change her life forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter 1!  
> I know, I'm not very skilled in medical terms but I kept the canon part of Whitney being a medial student. She's just starting, though, and doesn't know much.  
> Her mom had a different name and the ASL thing is a twist i added for later reasons he he he  
> I hope you guys like it!

“My mother  
is pure radiance.  
  
She is the sun  
I can touch  
and kiss  
  
and hold  
without  
getting burnt.”  
  


― **Sanober Khan**

_She couldn’t remember a time when her slumber didn’t begin within the dream. It flowed like a smooth river upon her skin, caressing her in places she’d never known. Its cool touch soothed her like a soft breeze in spring, the feeling of elation at what was to come building. She smiled against the watery sunlight of the glen she’d always find herself in, shafts spilling upon dew kissed blades of grass while they swayed in the chill zephyr. There were mountains always surrounding the peaceful clearing like sentinels standing watch over her. She knew the place, pieces of it splintering and lodging into her core. It was a member of a puzzle far greater than she could fathom._

_She trembled, but not from the chilly wind sweeping through the glade._

_A cross caught the light of the sun, rough wood shaped by hands far more skilled than her own. A glinting piece of jewelry swung against the bark of the twigs, face opened to reveal pictures of people she’d thought she’d known._

_Among the fantasy, through the thicket and shadows of towering trees, she spotted a solitary figure with their back to her. It was a broad, expansive back wrought from labor and pain. The shoulders sloped oddly to one side, but she never balked at the difference. If anything, it caused her to stride forward toward them with curious intent._

_Who was the stranger? A man?_

_She recognized him, too, like one acknowledged an old friend from childhood. It seemed she’d known him all along. He’d always been there, watching from the shadows. The gloom writhed around his feet as she strode forward toward him, arm raised out and fingers splayed to accept him. Her heart fluttered at the chance to meet him._

_Show yourself_ _, she begged them. Please, I want to know you._

_Just like how the dream began, they faded, and Whitney woke to a sweat drenched bed and the lingering smell of pine sap._

****

_Present Day_

“Hey, are you coming tonight?”

The question being asked was just like many before it. The good intentions laced within the words were just as they were: good. However, Whitney knew better than to think the people from school were interested in having the loner come over for a party. It was simply an act of kindness and nothing else, wrought upon by a person who felt sorry for her. Like the many questions similar to the one being asked of her by Amanda, Whitney answered it just like she had all the others.

“Nah,” she replied to the phone call. “I’ve got an exam tomorrow that I have to study for. Thanks, though.”

“Okay, well, if you change your mind then call me.” Amanda chirruped on the other side. A hint of relief dripped from her words. Whitney had heard the spill before.

It wasn’t like she didn’t appreciate the gesture. Far from it, actually. Whitney could use a moment or two outside of her books to live a little. Her mother would appreciate her daughter learning what happened outside of the pages of text. Still, Whitney wasn’t much of a partier. If she was, there were many other places she would choose to go besides the house Amanda called from. She was not a fan of Trent DeMarco and his egotistical display of masculinity in the form of a fancy get together.

Whitney would choose a peaceful walk over any party, if she were being honest with herself. She liked quiet and the tranquil atmosphere of nature. She’d felt since birth how close she was to it. A natural pull resided in the pit of her gut, tugging at her every time she grew near a stand of forest or the like. The mountains were pure torture, the tug growing stronger with every crunch of granite under her feet.

In the past, when her mother was of better health, they would go hiking up north in the Dakotas. Her ancestors were from the area of a small, unnamed township farther from there, but she’d never known their exact location. Her mother always hinted, but never delivered. The crisp mountain air and refreshing distance from civilization caused Whitney to fall in love with the scenery. The peaks of the great mountain range rose high into the sky, surrounding their little camp ground like guardians. Whitney knew her heart belonged there ever since, her place among the trees and creatures that called it home.

Life had its own way of delivering hard blows, however, and Whitney’s days in the mountains were long gone. Most of the present consisted of caring for her sick mother inside their small house in the suburbs of Oklahoma City, near Norman. Oklahoma University served as a great way to kick start her medical career, but most of her days were spent bent over texts and preparing for exams. Occasionally, she would receive a call from her brother on his whereabouts in the country.

Clay didn’t follow the same dreams his sister did. His goals were far stretched upon the seat of a motorcycle he named Lucille. Pounding blacktop was his release from the stress over their mother and he had been on his road trip for six months. Whitney barley spoke to Clay and when they did talk, it was simple and anticlimactic. He would inform her of his location, and she would update him to the events on the home front. Rarely did they ever speak of anything else.

Others figured Whitney suffered from depression because of everything that happened. Sure, she felt sad and wished for things to be different. However, she loved her mother and even Clay. She loved them so much; she never once held their actions or sickness against them. When most people would lash out, as Clay had done by leaving, she only clenched her jaw and chose to endure the burdens no one else chose to undergo. It was the only thing she could do to remain in control of her sanity.

Amanda hung up the phone and Whitney sighed audibly. She felt the rush of relief at yet another possible headache. It bothered her to feel that way, but she had her own obligations. The woman in the room upstairs was the main priority. If Whitney left her, she would never forgive herself if something happened.

The breast cancer showed not too long ago. It had been there prior, but the doctors failed to find it. It wasn’t their fault. Her mother was deaf and only knew sign language to report how horrible she had felt. Her draining energy plagued her daily routines. Once, Whitney remembered her mother’s tired breath hindering her gardening. It was then she figured her mother to be ill. Things changed after that, Whitney’s life flopping upside down like a fish out of water.

From then on, Whitney’s life involved various hospital visits and treatments. She watched as her mom seemed to wither away. The strong woman she once had been was cleaved in half by the physical altercation that befell her. It split Whitney in two knowing her mother was not as she used to be anymore. Her brother couldn’t handle the pressure from it and, thus, had abandoned them to cope. Whitney was left to care for their dying mother which should have aroused feelings of sorrow and hate. All she could feel was the numbness to her brother’s actions and the need to provide care.

Her phone began buzzing next to her right as she began studying again. She glanced at the brightly lit screen. A small smile formed on her face at seeing the name, her heart fluttering inside her chest. Mikes name shown brilliantly against the dimly lit living room. Whitney grabbed the phone from where it sat and accepted the call.

“Hey,” She greeted.

“Hey there, how’s it going?” Mike’s voice sounded as fatigued as she felt.

“Exhausted and ready for this exam to be over.” She replied. The lassitude gnawed at her bones, alerting her to how weary she actually was. “You?”

“Just getting off work.” He sighed. “Definitely need to go home and drink a little.”

Whitney giggled. “How about you have some for me, okay?”

Her boyfriend clucked his tongue on the other end of the line. “Miss Miller, you have every right to come over and join me.”

“Yes,” She smirked. “Of course I do, but my exam won’t take itself. So, here I am.”

Mike chortled. “Yes, of course. The ever studious Whitney cannot make a B minus or she wouldn’t know what to do with herself.”

“Listen here, Michael,” She began. A faint tinkling sound reached her ears and she halted. Waiting, she listened again. It returned, signifying she needed to leave. “I have to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Mom’s calling.”

“Okay, babe, I’ll chat tomorrow.” Mike’s voice stained with a bit of regret. “Goodnight.”

Whitney smiled. “Goodnight.”

She pressed the red button on her phone screen to end the call, placing it down upon the coffee table in front of her. She rose, setting her text book down next to the phone and turning to head up the stairs. The nurse in charge of her mother would show the next morning as usual. However, it was up to Whitney to care for her during the night. She had her books to keep her entertained, but usually her mother called to her just to talk.

Ascending the stairs, Whitney set foot down upon the hardwood floor of the second landing. Their small condo in the suburbs seemed quaint and comfy. It had been the site of many memories for both Whitney and her brother. Creaking wood and crayon growth marks were but a few of them. Whitney recalled attempting to avoid the squall of that one floor board as she ascended the stair when she was little. She’d been down in the living room reading past her bedtime. Or, when the very same board would cry to signify her mother’s approach when Whitney clearly needed to be in bed, but instead, found herself reading once again.

Her mother’s door was open and the little bell she used to call Whitney rang again. Fluidly, the girl crossed the distance and entered her mother’s room.

She had been given all of the equipment she needed by courtesy of the OU Medical Center. However, surrounding the woman were things reminding Whitney of life before the cancer. Various picture frames were hung upon the wall. Smiling faces of her and her brother shone brightly through the soft lamplight casting shadows upon the warm red walls. A large bookcase snuggled into one corner near her mother’s bed, a plethora of books shoved into the small shelves of hard wood. There were pictures there, too. Some showcasing the vacations her family had been on in the past and some of Clay’s activities as a boy.

At the other end of the room, Whitney spotted the enormous dresser housing many of her mother’s comfy clothes. Summer shorts and t-shirts from all reaches of the United States were folded neatly in those drawers. Whitney remembered trying on some of her mom’s shirts and wishing she were an adult. Looking back, she regretted ever thinking such a thing sometimes. Her adulthood came quicker than she would have liked.

She glanced at herself in the large vanity mirror. Her auburn hair was snugly held up in a bun at the top of her head, her shirt hanging limply upon her thin shoulders. She hadn’t eaten much since her mother had been diagnosed with her sickness and it showed. Many of her acquaintances had displayed concern for her health, but she reassured them she was doing fine. Still, her frame hadn’t gotten any thinner. Her normal meal times were few and far between but Whitney was anything but malnourished. She just didn’t feel like eating most of the time.

The bell rang again and Whitney sighed. She turned to gaze at her mother with a smile, the woman’s hands slowly forming symbols. Whitney studied them for a moment, her mother’s mood calm as her daughter took her time to respond.

 _Are you okay?_ Diane Miller’s expression seemed worried and Whitney shook her head.

“Yes, Mom. I’m okay. Just tired.” Whitney signed back. She was a natural at the language, using it since she was little to speak to her mom. “The exam is tomorrow.”

_I know_ , Diane replied. _Do you think you are ready?_

Whitney gave a shrug. Her mother’s dark greens narrowed. Diane was thin, much thinner than her daughter would prefer. A cloth wrapped itself around her head to signify the effects of the treatments. Her once glowing cascade of deep brown locks were long gone because of the illness. Whitney knew her mother missed the parts of herself she lost, but her inner strength bloomed far greater than her depression could trump.

_That’s not very convincing._ Her mother stated rather rushed. She seemed irritated.

“I know, Mom.” She sighed again. “I’m doing the best I can.”

Diane gave her daughter a smile and Whitney could feel the pang of tears. The woman before her only seemed concerned for her daughter’s success. She was her biggest fan and would remain so until she could no longer breathe. Whitney hoped against everything her mother would beat the illness and return to her. For the time being, though, Diane was still as much of a mother as she ever had been.

_You need a break,_ Mrs. Miller signed. _Take that curly haired boy of yours somewhere._

Whitney found herself laughing, actually laughing, at her mother’s rendition of Mike. She wasn’t sure if Diane particularly fancied him, but she didn’t voice any opinion on their pairing. He did make her feel giddy, but to be happy around him was something the girl couldn’t hold on to. Sure, he was a nice guy and she’d grown to care for him. Yet, there was something within her that wasn’t fulfilled. A large gap in her heart seemed a black void among the other feelings she encountered. She never told anyone but her mother this.

“You know I can’t leave you, Mom.” Whitney hurriedly signed back while shaking her head to enhance her refusal.

Diane sighed, a sound her daughter rarely heard. _You need to go out and have fun once in a while. I will have Nancy. Don’t worry about me._

Whitney scoffed, something her mother couldn’t hear but she was sure the woman could read it. She had grown very aware of body language and lip reading. Nancy, their nurse, was getting better at using sign language. ASL was difficult if one hadn’t used it before. Still, Whitney couldn’t feel keen on leaving her mother behind with the older lady for anything but school and sleep. Nancy did her best, but Whitney felt herself compelled to remain in control of her mother’s situation. It was what she had known since the day her mother fell ill and a sense of overprotective emotions caused her to feel like a mother herself.

“That’s easier said than done, Mom.” Whitney spoke aloud, using some of her signs. Her hands grew tired. “I worry about you all the time.”

Her mother shook her head, beckoning her daughter to come closer. The lines attached to her mom glistened in the warm lamplight beside her bed. The equipment surrounding the woman beeped and blooped in the quiet of the room, giving the girl slight anxiety. She still crossed to her mother’s arms and the woman enveloped her in a sturdy hug.

Diane smelled like mint and lavender. Whitney could always remember the scent when they were relaxing at home during the weekends. It was her mother’s favorite lotion and it had burned itself into Whitney’s mind. Flashes of days in the sunshine during the hot months stirred a longing in her heart. She wanted those days back so urgently, wished to have her mother feel better. Her hatred for the sickness blossomed in her chest like a newly spurned flame. But she had always hated it and the flame wasn’t new.

They remained as they were for a while, Whitney letting the warmth of her mother’s embrace settle deep within her bones. She inhaled the scent of her lotion and pressed the feelings of sadness toward the very back of her mind. She couldn’t let her mom see her in such a state, the need to remain strong in Diane’s eyes giving Whitney a sense of triumph against the cancer. In her own way, keeping stoic and vigilant seemed a good way to beat the emotions that came with the sickness. At least it _seemed_ to be a victory of sorts. Diane knew better than to think her daughter’s façade to be real. If anyone knew Whitney, it was her mother and the front was only for Whitney herself to believe if she chose to.

Finally, she rose from her mom to see her eyes wet with tears. The sting from earlier returned, her hand moving to wipe her cheeks. She hadn’t realized she’d sobbed until the salty trails began to wet themselves again with newly fallen tears. Diane gave a small smile of sympathy, shaking her head and reaching to wipe some of the drops from Whitney’s chin.

_Don’t cry for me, Monkey._ She signed, using Whitney’s childhood nickname. Something lurched at the girl’s heart, causing more tears to fall. _Think about going out this summer. I will be fine._

Whitney nodded at the thought of the approaching end to the spring season and another semester a mere blink away. The consideration of leaving her mom behind broke her a little, but it was what Diane wanted. Whitney couldn’t remain in the house while the summer months passed her by. She was young, and she needed to do what girl’s her age did. She wondered what she could do, having lost the will to once her mother got sick.

“I’ll think about it. I promise.” Whitney replied. “Goodnight, Mom.”

Diane bid her good night, indicating the urge to contemplate a summer activity with narrowed eyes. Whitney couldn’t fool her mom into thinking she would just let the subject slide. Mothers made sure their children were happy, and Diane would do anything to ensure her daughter didn’t break like Clay had. If that required endless grueling lectures and heated gestures in ASL, then so be it.

Whitney exited the room, turning to watch her mom’s eyes close and chest rise and fall in slumber. It didn’t take much to wear the woman out. Her weakened state caused many tired spells, Whitney usually keeping herself from taxing conversations with her mom before dinner. Still, it felt good to have a chat with her. They were few and far between thanks to school, but when they did have them, it brought her back to the days of old.

She decided a hot shower would do her some good. It wasn’t cold or blistering outside but rolling water with steam winding around her form seemed the best combatant to her stress. She could already feel the twinge of her exhaustion bundled beneath her shoulders. Her neck ached horribly from being bent so long in study.

Their small bathroom felt cozy and warm compared to hospital bathrooms. Brown accents and dark curtains cast a warm sensation around the room. Brown granite countertops were clean and sparkling in the orange glow of the overhead light. A small heater still lit to bite the spring cold nestled itself in the wall near the shower. Whitney had grown so used to the stale white walls and pale porcelain. It always disturbed her how quickly she accepted some things. She missed the old days, but knew she needed to crush the overwhelming urge to throw something and scream.

She turned the faucet on toward the highest heat, fiddling with the cold dial to keep the temperature decent. The steam rose around her, coiling across her skin to raise the tiny hairs upon her arms. She drank in the warm mist, letting it bathe her insides. Pulling up the little lever allowing the steady water from the faucet to transform into a rush from the showerhead.

She undressed and slipped into the tub and under the heat, drawing the dark brown shower curtain over to cover herself. The liquid rolled down her body, the warmth pressing deeply into her soul. She sighed, letting it envelope her as one would sink into a hug. The anxiety rolling inside her dissipated into the twirling vapor, evaporating with the moisture into the air. The heavy weight upon her shoulders disappeared as well and Whitney rolled them to ease whatever tension remained.

Soon, she began to hum song that had stuck itself inside her head for a while. Her voice was soft against the rushing noise of the shower. She steadily rose a few octaves as she squirted shampoo into her palm and massaged through her scalp. Eventually, she couldn’t help herself and the voice inside her came forth to perform the ballad to an imperceptible audience.

No one knew it, but Whitney held a deep passion for choral. It began when she was young and never ceased to ease her tension when she decided to unleash it. She wouldn’t admit to herself her voice tingled like an angel and she rarely let anyone listen. Her mother couldn’t hear her, but she knew Whitney could sing.

She let the melody twist and wrap itself throughout her as the water cascaded down her skin and to the drain. She let the tune unleash itself from the very bottom of her belly, echoing from the tiled walls of the bathroom. In her mind, she was upon a stage as vast as the night sky. Millions of people beheld the sight of her with stars in their wet eyes. The swell of her heart within her breast pushed the notes further into the warm vapor spiraling about.

After her shower, she dressed herself in her comfy pajamas and descended the stairs to grab her textbooks. Checking her cell before loading her backpack up for class the next day, she noticed a message from Mike. He indicated he had made it back home and something else interesting seemed to stand out in his other messages.

**Mike: Hey, Whit. Wade called me today and let me know they are heading to Washington the week after school lets out. What do you think? Should we go? He says his folks are paying for it all.**

She drew a breath. Wade was a friend of Mikes and not so much a friend to Whitney. His parents were fancy lawyers in Oklahoma City and usually spent the copious amounts of cash they made on lavish vacations for their son and his friends. Mike told stories of some of their expeditions to various parts of the country. To Whitney, it seemed like a waste of money. That kind of money would find a better use toward her mother’s medical bills if Whitney processed it.

Still, a sensation snagged her brain like a fish to a lure. Fate was a funny thing to Whitney, and the feeling of it beginning to tug upon her soul couldn’t be ignored. She just had the conversation with her mom over such a matter, realizing the situation was somewhat of a coincidence. She didn’t believe it destiny. That belonged with those who believed in magic. She found no interest in either.

**Whitney: Why Washington? Why not the beach like they’ve done in the past?**

She waited, mind pondering on the idea of a vacation in the mountains. It would be much cooler than the blistering temperatures of Oklahoma. Whitney cold almost feel the sweat dripping down her spine, a shiver coiling somewhere beneath her skin. The cool mountain air sounded more enticing than the increasing warmth.

Her phone buzzed.

**Mike: I don’t really know. He just told me about it a few minutes ago. I think we are driving.**

Whitney narrowed her eyes, walking up the stairs again to her own room. Being stuck in a vehicle for more than a few hours with Wade and whoever else decided to go didn’t sound appetizing. Whitney didn’t know Wade very well, only that he was very spoiled and slightly goofy. Still, a mountain vacation in Washington undermined any thoughts of their weird host. If she blamed this reflection on anything, she would lay it upon the need to be away from her town and from the stress writhing among the street lights and dirt roads.

Something struck her, tugging upon her heart like a pair of hands. A flash of a nameless lake rushed through her mind, the placid water as still as the surface of glass. Still shots of the dreams she’d had, the solitary figure, and the cross rolled like a movie strip through her brain. Something called to her from there. A craving as real as her fingers pressing into her text book arose inside her, unraveling like a coiled snake from the bottom of her stomach. It beckoned her like a dancing flame lured a moth. She _needed_ to go on this trip. She quickly typed a reply.

**Whitney: Okay, let me talk to my mom about it. She’s been on me about getting out of the house. I think she will say yes. Who all is going?**

She didn’t want to inform her mother of the sudden events until she was awake to respond properly. Diane needed as much rest as she could get, the long days of treatments causing her sleep schedule to flop horribly. Whitney’s had suffered, too, which she could recuperate from rather quickly. Still, it went without saying that her mother needed to know about the trip. It was rather long drive and sudden, but if the sensation of urgency within her heart was anything to go by, Whitney felt little to no argument was needed.

She glanced down at her phone as soon as Mike replied:

**Mike: Amanda, Richie, and Wade are the only ones who are going so far. Then us, if we want to.**

Whitney didn’t reply. Mentioning the others left a foul taste in her mouth. She glanced up, finding herself staring at her reflection in her bedroom mirror. There were dark circles under her once bright eyes. She could feel the fatigue behind them, knowing full well her stress couldn’t be hidden anymore. She had to get out before the exhaustion caused something to happen to her.

Her mother was right. It _was_ time for a vacation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave kudos and comments! Let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of a flashback of Jason's life and a new insight on our antagonist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to rewrite this chapter and it took hours! I swear I'm too picky. Here it is, though. And I hope yall like it!

**“Anger is never without a reason, but seldom with a good one.”**

**-Benjamin Franklin**

He had been wrong. He had been horribly and utterly incorrect. 

Originally, he figured the reason behind his return from death was exclusively because of the burning rage writhing within his soul. He’d witnessed his mother’s murder and, sequentially, had been murdered himself. The flames of such anger licked and charred the remaining remnants of his the dead organ he’d called a heart and the heat bloomed throughout his entire body. The once frozen veins beneath his skin came alive with the power behind his fury. His madness drove him upward and away from the hell he had called home.

Yet, the blaze was now but a burning bed of embers at the very bottom of his core. It kept him warm enough to survive and meander through the wood. It did little to aid in him grasping his purpose. He would have believed cheating death to fulfill an oath of vengeance his calling. He wouldn’t believe wrenching himself from the fingers of the Grim Reaper to be wondering without a cause.

He stiffened at the warm breeze fluttering among the leaves above. They whispered to him, calling his name. They did such a thing so often, but he didn’t care to listen. He didn’t wish to be a part of their idle chatter when he had traps to check. They were dotted strategically all along the borders of his self-proclaimed territory and needed to be monitored for any sign of trespassing or food.

Ridding himself of death’s grip had not eradicated the need to eat. He didn’t sleep much over the years he had walked but the burning hunger he knew from before never sated. He needed sustenance just like every other human. If he needed it like the people he witnessed arriving from the world outside, he denied it. He wasn’t like them and never had been. They had grown fat and lazy, a hard day’s work all but faded into history.

His history.

Jason had sputtered himself into a crawling position, ridding himself of the chill water soaking him to the core. After a few moments to dry after launching from the horrid lake, he lay upon the moist earth to regain his composer. The wind rustled the pines above his head, the trees whispering his name. At first, he couldn’t hear anything but a faint murmur. As soon as he’d given himself time, their words met his water clogged ears. It shook him for it seemed not the only thing that he became sensitive to. 

After what seemed like eons, Jason stood shakily upon his legs. Water dripped down his thighs and onto the sodden soil under his bare feet, but he stepped forward carefully. His first action was to find his mother. He didn’t want to see her, but an urgency of respect and the need to solidify her death as reality seemed to wash over him and guide his movements. Following some unseen intuition, he slowly traveled a path toward the spot where his life had changed forever.

There, he had found her. His mother’s lifeless corpse hung against the cutting bindings. The reality of the situation came crashing in upon him and he realized he hadn’t been dreaming after all. He bent down by her body, his trembling hands untying the ropes cleaving her wrists. Her blood had ceased to flow any longer, leaving the severed area of her neck exposed and dry. He shuddered, tears threatening to sting his eyes and fall down his cheeks.

He should have cried. He was eleven years old, after all. Yet, the thundering heart he once knew within his chest now lay dead and still. His anger flared to life at the sight of her. The memories of what they had done still burned in his brain. He cradled her as best as his frame could, her skin ice against his own. Using a shovel he found inside a tool shed, he buried his mother in the middle of the clearing she’d died in. He hadn’t wanted to touch her head, but it needed to be buried as well.

He stood over the fresh grave for hours. Thoughts splayed out through his mind, ideas and plans rising like a tide on a beach. He couldn’t let her memory fall as she had. He’d loved her with every ounce of his being and she’d given him life. To see her slain by the townsfolk had stirred an unprecedented urge to avenge her death. She had been the purest being there aside from his friend. She needed to be remembered for it.

Lucid thoughts of what he would do ran through his mind as fast as rushing water. Many ideas showed, but none he figured would do any justice to the horrible acts they had performed. He stilled his hand and made it his mission to follow through with his revenge when the time felt right.

The time came shortly after his death. He’d grown taller and a year older, but his unaltered need for blood spurred him forward and kept the plan alive within him. He’d prepared himself for the showdown, weapons chosen and placed out before him. The air felt right, and the moment had come. It had been time to strike, or forever wallow in her death being nothing more than a joke to her murderers.

Darkness fell upon the land with a hush. His chosen weapon, a shovel, seemed the only thing he could use for the time being. It would do the work it needed to and fulfill the purpose he’d set it out for. Rain fell in sheets that night, raking icy fingers down his spine as he approached the village. The orange glow of lamps within the cozy confines of the houses reflected from the growing puddles of water riddling the dirt street. Many times he’d played and splashed in those puddles, his child heart elated with being allowed to go outside.

Now, with a whole new intention, he pushed through them.

It didn’t take long to perform the duty. The first house served as an easy start, his frame barging through the front door with gusto. The residents had screamed in panic, his form most likely a horrid sight to behold. Their blood splattered the wall either way and he left their door open as he exited.

His last he’d saved for a reason. The mayors house stood tall and solitary at the very end of the main road in town. By the time Jason had done away with most of the folks there, the mayor had heard their screams and had ventured out to witness the murderer stalking toward him. Jason was, without a doubt, a horrific vision to witness. Blood covered every inch of him, his altered face caked with the viscous substance.

“Who are you?” The mayor had asked, retreating to the safety of his fence. “What have you done to my town?”

Jason gave the man no time to plead for his life. Movement caught his attention, his chin jerking to see a woman and two boys starring down in horror at the blood-soaked boy. Turning to his prey, Jason lifted the shovel up and down onto his victim. The shock knocked the man unconscious as Jason delivered the fatal blow to end the evil doers’ life. 

Glancing upward again, Jason felt a twinge of something he couldn't grasp jerk inside his gut. Where his heart should have been beating, he felt a flutter there. The offspring of the mayor and his wife starred down wildly at the boy who had just killed the husband and father. Jason couldn’t stay any longer, their eyes boring into him uncomfortably. With a swift twirl on his heel, Jason fled down the road and far away from them.

He found himself on his doorstep, the house wide open to the elements. Inside, he’d discovered the tattered remains of everything his mother had held dear. The people had ransacked his home, leaving nothing behind but junk and dust. He felt a pang of anger rise within him again, but recalled his duty to be done. Letting the emotion fall upon the ground at his feet, Jason moved to the rear of the house and his bedroom. There, his eyes scanned the area to find his bed upturned and the things precious to him in shattered shards upon the old wood floor.

A stuffed bear lay upon that same floor. Jason bent down to retrieve it, relief flooding him. They had torn his house to shreds and left nothing behind. Yet, the bear signified everything not being lost. It had been his closest companion during stormy nights and a sense of joy caused him to sigh.

He had fulfilled his mission. He had killed them all. His mother could rest in peace.

Yet, he’d found himself in confusion. He had done his deed and had eradicated those who had done him wrong. He didn’t know what came of the three he spared that night. He had left nothing alive. So, why did he feel so empty once again? Had he not performed the task he’d needed to?

Jason discovered he couldn’t stay where the memories were too raw. The sting of his past and the horror that filled it left him open and unprotected. The woods, he deemed, were the best to alleviate the sensations of pain and anger that still remained. He didn’t want to stay home. He needed to find another place to stay.

Fleeing deep into the woods brought him to a quaint section far, far away from his home. His mother’s glen lay close by and the lake resided just a little ways away. The stream that cut through her resting place could serve as a source of water, and he could hunt for his food. He could survive there.

Time slowed for the boy. Everything around him aged, but Jason did not. At least, his body gradually did after a certain time. He drank the water of the stream, daring not to tread upon the lake and remind himself of his unplanned death. Yet, he knew the stream’s source originated from the large body of water. As he consumed the liquid, his body slowed its progression. He was stagnant mud surrounded by white capped rapids.

Soon, though, Jason became a man.. He found he quite fancied the change of physique, feeling himself much stronger than he used to be and the advantages behind such mass. His weakness no longer corroded him. Having been reborn and left to his own devices, Jason made sure to eradicate the feeble boy he once knew. His form grew upward, taut flesh housed corded muscles as hard as steel. Each were forged as he labored to build a home for himself. Broad shoulders spanned as large as a grizzly’s with arms rounded like tree trunks. He bore no mask to cover the disfigured face that cursed him in the first place, but he didn’t mind.

At least, not until people found the woods.

The township, for all he knew, had withered away into the earth with the passage of time. He promised himself he wouldn’t return to it. But, other people discovered it. Large, metal beasts with piercing eyes cut through the darkness he’d grown accustomed to, leaving the earth in shreds. He didn’t fancy them, and found his territorial nature rising like bile in the back of his throat.

The people were vocal, speaking words he knew but others he didn’t. Their attire seemed different, a far cry from what he’d grown up around but not unlike the dank shirt, quilted jacket, and rough work pants he’d discovered strewn about earlier that year. At first, he found himself fearful of them. They were raw and uncultured, distantly unlike the humans he’d known in his village. Their rash actions left his fists balling in anger. 

Then, they began ripping up the area with horrid metal tools. Their claims of riches among his shattered memories riled the boiling blood beneath his skin. They dared to touch the only thing he had left of his past. The locket was long gone, buried deep into the bottom of the lake for many years. He had no wish to dive down to the depths to find it again no matter how badly he wanted it with him.

The people breaking his peace drove him to reignite his blood lust once again. After many years in solitude, he found he hadn’t lost the feeling. More than anything, he’d simply harbored it down deep within is core. Either way, all he cared for at that moment was stopping the horrid things they were doing to his sacred ground.

Blinded by his own rage, he launched himself into their midst. They had fled with horrified screams, claiming he was a monster out to devour them. For some reason, the title satisfied him. However, he wasn’t fully sated. They were not leaving unless they paid the price of their folly. That meant only one thing to Jason.

They had to die.

Prior to the events of his and his mother’s death, he had been a kind soul with a large heart. Despite the deformity of his features, he never once felt ill will toward anyone who gazed at him in disgust. This had ultimately been a part of his downfall. By trusting those he wished to be close to, they turned on him as if he were some creature born from Hell. He had hated the mayor and his underlings, loathed them with every fiber of his being. Since them, Jason had become a murderer. A justified killer.

The hatred burning deep within because of those people seethed forward, his need to purge the life from those who wronged him guiding his hand. Using the new found strength he processed from years of labor, he struck down his enemy and smote their ruin into the very soil of his refuge. He buried them to hide the mess, picking clean the bodies.

Jason shook himself from his memories, lightly touching the sharp machete in the sheath on his thigh. He’ acquired it from a victim no too long ago. The original owner had named it such a thing, the meaning long since forgotten by its new handler. It’s usefulness knew no bounds, serving as the best possible weapon Jason had ever gathered.

The wood seemed quiet. He listened with perfectly honed ears to the rustling and whisper of the leaves above. There were no humans to kill anymore, most of them having deterred from his area years ago. If word traveled as fast as the metal beasts they rode in, he figured they would have known about him. Stories were a rich part of his history. Sometimes, they served as hardy tools against grave mistakes.

Bending down, he gazed at a metal trap nestled within the vegetation. It gleamed in the early morning sun, open maw of hardened teeth raised toward the sky. He found nothing in it disappointingly. His hope at checking the others pushed him further into the wood. His routine checks took most of the day. Then, after doing that, he would hunker down inside the lodge he had built to sit out the night and sharpen his blades. A grudgingly slow way to keep his mind at bay until he rose to meet the sunrise and begin the day anew.

In the wake of fulfilling his mission, he began construction of his own shelter. Using determination and elbow grease, he taught himself how to build using wood and nails. There were various tools left behind by his villagers that deemed hardy to the passage of time. A simple saw served him well until it had broken, but he managed to build most of the shelter while it still held strong. Eventually, his lodge stood strong upon the quaint ground he’d claimed his own.

During the building of his lodge, people who dared venture into his territory left various items behind while fleeing for their life. It surprised him how much humanity had changed over the course of the many years he had been around. He found objects to trap food, tools and various simple objects of pleasure. He had even located something used for communication once the metal beasts arrived, signifying the things he had missed while in the isolation of the forest.

Time was of no concern to Jason unless it meant he would miss checking a trap or a season when the deer were in rut and oblivious to his hunting. Many things had changed. It numbed him, leaving him behind to stare it down in disgust. This passage of the age and the fluctuations of humanity didn’t bother him. What caused him concern was the very fact of being alive with nothing else to prove but his mere existence. He had cheated the gloomy fingers of Death out of anger and the need for blood. Yet, the taste of the liquid had been spilled upon his pallet. He no longer found it to be satisfying and eventually lost the will to be a taker of life all together. His prey failed to show for years after his first killings, leaving him shrouded in his own cloud of shame. Why was he there if those he wished ill of were gone?

That was when he realized his true purpose no longer stemmed from seeking revenge. He had done that many ages ago. Now, a possible purpose rose from something vastly different.

Thus, he had been wrong. Terribly, wrong. Perhaps, too, Death had been mistaken. There were no other explanations as to why he wandered the wood. To him, he was but an imbalanced to the natural order of things. A monster lurching listlessly through the brush when he should have been buried long ago in his watery grave.

Jason halted his trek uphill toward a trap to listen. The cool spring air caused the newly budding blooms on the trees to jostle about. Creatures chattered beneath the shadows of bushes. The vibrations of life stirred along his exposed forearm, rippling like water against the bundled nerves. His large hands clenched at an unexplained stirring along the wind.

Something was coming.

He stood as still as he could, the perforated jacket upon his shoulders a dark brown. The shirt underneath that had once been white now blended with the dirt at his feet. He hoped the mixture would cloak him from whatever seemed to rustle the hedges right down the path. However, the creatures around him ceased their bickering and he felt his entire resolve stiffen. Even the trees seemed to silence themselves. A faint whisper warned him of oncoming trouble. Something massive.

He knew exactly what it was. 

Darkness descended, shrouding him in shadow. An inkling of evil gnawed at his heart. It was a feeling he had felt many times before when, upon his rebirth, his lungs drank in the delicious oxygen. This malicious sensation had swathed his path, beckoning him to follow. It was like him, it claimed. Maimed and shunned by the outside world in which it lived.

_Humanity is vial and nasty. A blistering disease upon the earth._ It had claimed, the sound nothing but a rasping grating of claws upon his mind. _We can fix this. We can kill them all._

At first, he’d fallen for it. Perhaps its call had caused him to slaughter an entire village of people. Yet, realizing later the very fact that the thing’s blood lust would never be sated caused a stirring of unease in Jason’s gut. He’d left the monster to its own devices. He wouldn’t be a pawn in its game. He’d done his damage and now he wished to be left alone.

He listened to the deep vibrations of the obscurity as it rattled the trees. If his heart still beat, as it once before his rebirth, he would have felt the thundering thick against his sternum. Clutching the hilt of the machete, he quietly stepped from the path and against a thick tree trunk. Pressing himself as tightly as he could, he awaited the approaching creature that had plagued him for so many years.

He hadn’t known where it originated from. He only knew it to have been there when he erupted from the water, wet and ravaged with rage. It seemed to fancy the idea of such anger pouring from him, tinkering with the thought of aiding a helpless soul whose heart had been blown to leave the void of loss behind. It had come too close to Jason before, and the man had fallen to some of its evil. Yet, with time, something had bid him to halt and turned him down his own stretch of road. He had done his fair share of killing, but this creature’s entire life revolved around it. Its purpose was to slaughter; Jason’s no longer remained as such.

Heavy footsteps pounded the forest floor, sending the remaining creatures in hiding to shoot from their spots and away from danger. A horrid rasp echoed, grating against Jason’s ears. He winced against the raucous feeling on his ears. He tightened his grip again on the machete, muscles taut beneath his skin and awaiting the reason to flee or fight.

He held his breath as the thing stepped closer. It remained on the other side of his tree, unaware of him. He heard a rush of as the creature sniffed, attempting to smell him. Its coarse breath lingered, the stench of rotted flesh reaching his nostrils. Having experienced the odor before, Jason didn’t draw back in disgust. He knew what could possibly hold such a stink but dared not expose himself. It was far too dangerous.

A strangled sound escaped it and Jason felt his blood freeze. A simple creature would growl or grunt, but this was much worse. He could only picture it as that of a terrified human girl begging for her life, wrapped in the confines of a bear’s roar. It splintered through his core, lodging itself within to fester. He dared not move for fear it would discover him. There wasn’t any indication behind where the beast had gained the girl’s voice. Perhaps, it had gathered it from another set of victims.

He wasn’t fully to blame for the lack of trespassers. As a matter of fact, the horrid beast behind the tree contributed more to whatever rumors had spilled beyond the cover of the forest. More times than he could count, Jason spotted the massacre from the beast’s games. And, too often, he found himself cleaning up most of the mess. He had been correct on its blood rage. The thing hadn’t been jesting of its true intention.

In an instant, the creature disappeared and took the darkness with it. It had other things to do than fret over him. Jason knew it still wanted to combine forces, using his rage and pain to further its unwarranted murders. He was sure it had known he was there. Jason’s bated breath released, his lungs aching. He stood and glanced down the path from which the animal had gone. Among the leaves and twig debris strewn at his feet, he could spot large paws facing the direction the creature chose to take. Imprints of long claws indicated the thing to be dangerous and Jason pondered on the form it had taken this time. They were large and closely resembling those of a bear.

Jason was yet again left alone by his old friend. He pondered how many more chances he would have until his luck ran out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments welcome! Thank you!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams and driving. Not in the exact order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since everyone is inside, heres a chapter for you to read.  
> I've hit a lull in some of this story, which is unnerving, and so I'm editing chapters.  
> Some of my stuff is being fixed while I go and I just hope it all makes sense.  
> Jason has no hair. I kept him bald just because lol its easier for him.  
> I made Whitney curvy, not skinny like the canon version of her. I'm a curvy girl, and I like it when curvy girls are depicted as heroins.  
> So, yeah.  
> If you haven't already, I suggest going back and re-reading everything. AO3 messed up my chapter order so I had to redo it.  
> As always, thank you for everything.  
> BTW- every quote associates with the chapter in some way.  
> This is my fave quote at the beginning of the chapter. There is a bit of adventuring, but I still felt it right to place it there since Whitney left her hometown.

**“It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.” -JRR Tolkien**

**_-J.R.R Tolkien_ **

****

####  **Whitney’s first impression of their chosen vehicle categorized itself into one word: _large._ Usually, when she traveled with someone, the transportation choice was somewhat limited. However, Wade’s family and their copious amounts of income allowed them to rent a passenger van for the trip to Washington. It boggled Whitney’s mind, but she chose not to complain. She would have enough room to take a nap. That sufficed enough.**

####  **Mike’s expression lightened as she descended the steps of her house.**

####  **“I’m so glad you said yes.” He beamed, drawing her into a hug as soon as she set foot on the ground. “You have no idea.”**

####  **She chuckled, adjusting the pack on her shoulder as she pulled away. “Mom insisted.”**

####  **“How is she?” He asked, stooping to grab her suitcase and heave it into the cargo area of the van. The others, it seemed, had already grabbed their seats. Whitney noticed the very back seat vacant, supposedly theirs.**

####  **“She’s good.” Whitney gave a half-hearted smile. “She’s about the same as she was.”**

####  **“Well,” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “That’s something.”**

####  **Nodding, she stepped to the side door of the van and opened it. The scent of stale upholstery cleaner and the dangling sent tree hanging from the rearview mirror met her nostrils, causing her nose to wrinkle. Wade turned in the driver’s seat, winking at her as she bent to head toward her bench. Amanda had obtained the passenger seat, leaving a riled Richie to claim the very front bench. Of course, Whitney couldn’t hide her slight amusement at the befuddled man while she made her way toward the rear. Richie was anything but calm in most occasions. She knew him via Mike, but he wasn’t a bad person. Amanda, on the other hand, seemed to have the mindset of a princess born in the ghetto.**

####  **The seat belts hung like ropes from the entryway side, somewhat tangling her until she could reach her spot. Finally, the soft plush met her awaiting rear as Whitney sat down and slid to the window. After pulling her bag around from her shoulder, she placed it at her feet as somewhat of a foot rest. There seemed to be little room there, and the heavy bag containing reading material and her phone barley fit. As per her mother’s request, it also held various snacks and drinks that didn’t need the cold to keep their taste. Her mother informed her of other things she could pack, and so she spent the better part of her week after her exam stocking up. It had been a strategic act of Congress to place everything where it would fit but Whitney got it done.**

####  **Her mother’s reaction to the sudden vacation news had Whitney wishing she could announce it all over again. Diane’s face lit like a thousand candles, as warm as the flickering flames gnawing away at the wick. Whitney hadn’t seen her mother so joyful since the sickness began and it took everything in the girl’s power not to cry.**

####  **Mike joined her not too long after she’d sat down. He’d finished putting away what other luggage had been set out to fit hers within, the rush of warm spring air hitting Whitney as she settled into her seat.**

####  **He glanced at her, a flashy white grin from ear to ear. She couldn’t shake the warm sensation gripping her heart at witnessing his joy. As contagious as it was, it didn’t surprise her to feel the heat curl across her skin and burrow deep inside. She needed it as badly as one would need water to survive. Her life seemed so cold compared to the others, but she didn’t complain. She couldn’t. Not with her mother in the state she was in. Whitney wasn’t about to exhibit vain behaviors. It wasn’t in her nature.**

####  **“Okay, guys and gals,” Wade announced from the very front. “Are you ready?”**

####  **An undisputed “yes” trumpeted through the van. Wade smiled, his glasses bobbing on his nose while his ears rose, and turned toward the road. Placing the vehicle in drive and, with a lurch, the van pushed off from the curb and down the road toward their destination. Whitney felt her heart thud in her chest, the tiny inkling of worry beginning to nibble the back of her mind. Glancing back, she spotted Nancy’s car in the drive.**

####  **Whitney trusted the older woman, leaving it to her to care for her mother. This feeling didn’t come without the detailed description of all the things her mother needed while she was gone. By the end of their conversation and Whitney’s walk through, Nancy’s eyes drooped with exhaustion and she almost needed a tiny wheelbarrow to haul the list the girl had made for the woman. Whitney wasn’t surprised when Nancy requested a written schedule as well, which had been humbly provided and given to her in earnest before the girl left.**

####  **“Whit,” Mike’s voice broke her of her trance. She glanced at him to see his soft eyes blinking back. “She’s going to be okay. Nancy’s a good nurse.”**

####  **Hanging her head, the girl nodded. “I know, I know. I’m just not used to leaving her.”**

####  **A warm hand was placed upon her shoulder again. She leaned her cheek upon it, relishing the heat. Mike sighed, knowing the internal struggle within and understanding the need for comfort. “It’ll work out in the end. You’ll see.”**

####  **Would she? Something deep inside, a dark voice that savored the drama that was her life, chortled. The urge to go to Washington, one of the reasons she took the vacation in the first place, writhed like a snake against her soul. She couldn’t shake the feeling of seeing her driveway for the last time. It was a small one, but something she shouldn’t have ignored at all. She hoped she was wrong in even expressing something like that to herself. But one never knew. Life was unpredictable.**

####  **She just hoped her portion of it was.**

####  ********

####  **Ten hours into the trip, Whitney could feel her nerves beginning to fire. She had hugged the window for as long as she could, relieved when Mike offered to let her rest her head on his shoulders. She napped as much as much as physically possible until her restlessness rioted.**

####  **She watched the Utah countryside whip by in a flash of brown hills and green. Every so often, if she were lucky, she’d spot a section of un-melted snow. The air seemed much colder than what she was used to, but Wade’s courtesy and the heater on full blast seemed to keep the edgy chill from sinking its teeth in too far.**

####  **“May is supposed to be the best month in Washington.” Mike announced next to her. “The highest temperature about 74.”**

####  **Whitney gawked at him for even knowing something like that. She would expect herself to acquire information of that caliber, but not Mike. He usually didn’t pay attention to that type of information. It wasn’t that he was slow or stupid. He was far from it, but he typically kept away from things that required copious amounts of thoughts. This only seemed to lump him into the category of being a typical male of the human species.**

####  **Still, his information settled her a bit. If she were honest, she could feel a sense of admiration at his declaration. It soothed her to know he’d researched something like that just for her sake.**

####  **With a smile and new sense of respect, she turned to glance out of her window. Through the glass, she watched the countryside whip past in a blur of newly growing greens and the occasional dotting of white patches. Her thoughts trailed to the oncoming details of their venture and the pull she felt when her mind clasped onto it.**

####  **During the early hours of the trip, and thanks to Amanda’s begging, Wade explained the details of their destination. Among the great forest of lower Washington state, there resided a campsite. It hadn’t been touched in ages for unknown reasons, which he’d explain later. However, it seemed to be the perfect place for their retreat.**

####  **Yet, as he continued to explain, Whitney felt the pressure gripping her core like a vice begin to intensify. When she’d first sensed it in Oklahoma, just before leaving, she’d ignored it. However, it seemed to call to her as they grew closer with every mile.**

####  **Something about the camping trip, and the woods around it, and the lake caused her to react. It was almost nostalgic in its manner. Had she been to such a place before? Is that why it seemed to call her? The others hadn’t seemed rattled and she was left pondering her sanity. It was the first time she’d been outside of the state in so long and it could, quite possibly, be her nerves firing warning shots. She didn’t doubt for one second her mind was reacting to such a change. The entirety of their trip so far had been calm, but she had let her mind stay away from thoughts of home.**

####  **Wade drove on, surrendering the driver’s seat occasionally to Mike for in order to rest. Wade was adamant on warning the other man to avoid _wrecking_ the expensive van his parents had rented. Mike, in his normal fashion, promised if Wade wouldn’t speak a word of an accidental mud race. Of course, that didn’t sit well, and the two began bickering. Richie joined in later, explaining the idea of a mud ride becoming a decent idea. This only spurred the argument on even more.**

####  **Whitney stayed where she was in the back, relishing in the quiet and comfort of the plush cushions. She dozed more times than she could count. They were short and somewhat uncomfortable when Mike sat there, but once he drove, she had the entire back seat to herself. Wade chose to remain up front, moving Amanda to the seat with Richie. Whitney chuckled at Richie’s over excitement, Amanda none the wiser to his enamored actions toward her. The middle seat, Whitney noticed, remained occupied for the camping supplies. She didn’t understand why they chose the middle, but it didn’t really matter to her. She fancied the back seat and the quiet it rendered.**

####  **Whitney’s eyes grew heavy again. The waning sunlight marking the second straight day traveling. It painted the sky beyond the tall trees in radiant purples and golds. The tall pines stood silhouetted against the fading brightness. Streetlamps cast the road ahead in a harsh yellow light, but Whitney stayed glued to the countryside outside her window view. The others were busy discussing things about their school lives and dancing to a playlist Richie concocted. Leaning against the headrest of the seat, she let her eyes shut with a sigh. After a few moments, she felt the tug of sleep and gladly followed.**

####  **The watery sunlight spoke of early morning. She walked steadily upon a leaf strewn forest floor, pine cones crunching under her feet. Thick underbrush grew on each side, the scent of the spruce trees and the earth brushing her nostrils. She knew the place. She’d seen it before. She didn’t know how, or the time period in which she’s been there. Those were long forgotten with the passing of seasons. The trees whispered above, the leaves of the alders calling to her. They knew her or would know her. She couldn’t quite place the feeling. As she tread carefully upon the moist soil, she could hear the chattering of squirrels and the song of birds while they went about their merry way.**

####  **Breaking into an area clear of trees, her breath caught at the sight of a placid lake stretched before her. The surface mirrored glass, smooth and undisturbed by nature. Her heart hammered in her chest, the overwhelming but not too foreign pull beginning to tug adamantly upon her core. Her toes sunk into the shoreline. She turned away reluctantly and stepped forward, hearing the crunch of twigs and leaves under her bare feet. The air seemed cool upon her skin, the soggy humidity casting sparkling dew upon the branches that leaned into the clearing. The sky seemed grey, no sunlight piercing through the veil. She continued up through a stand of ferns just at the base of the tree line, pushing through to find a slightly worn path.**

####  **If her eyes belonged to another, they would not have seen it. But, for some reason, she could spot it as plain as one would spot neon in the shadows. The tug led her upward and forward and that was what she followed. Her feet knew the way, her heart the driver. If there were any doubts, she would have balked. She’d been there or would be there.**

####  **Panic seemed to render her motionless. A live wire of malice hung taut from branch to branch. Something wicked approached or had happened. She wasn’t sure, the uncertainty lying in the fact that she didn’t understand her own emotions. Was it the past she trekked in? Or was it the future?**

####  **A vibration stirred the peaceful air. Whitney felt herself stiffen. A thundering upon the earth shot tremors through the soles of her feet, her nerves quaking underneath her flesh. She straitened, glancing in all directions to seek the source. She sensed something large lurking beyond her sight. Something ominous and dark. The thick trees served as a veil to house the presence there.**

####  **Then, a rumble thundered through the clearing. Ripples formed upon the glassy surface of the lake and Whitney stepped back from where she believed the sound to come from. It was closing in, she realized. Slow, pounding footfalls approached, Whitney’s heart racing within her chest. It seemed to be coming from behind her. The panic skyrocketed.**

####  **She ran. It seemed the only logical thing to do. The chill, mountain air whipped at her cheeks. Tears from the cold stung at the corners of her eyes, the warm liquid streaming down to form trails of salt upon her face. A path she’d not seen before presented itself to her and she turned sharply onto it. The crunch of twigs and leaves beneath her feet, pain slicing up through her soles as she landed upon sharp sticks.**

####  **She halted mid-flight upon the path. Her lead trailed to nowhere, the sensation within her heart slackened it grip. Instead, it seemed to tighten from somewhere behind her or a little off to the side. She wasn’t sure, but she knew the impending doom that also seemed behind her was closing the distance in a flash. She needed to find somewhere to hide.**

####  **Suddenly, she felt a warmth clamp over her mouth and something solid press itself into her spine. It, too, felt large but the very power of it seemed to calm her. Her heart slowed as a thought trickled inside her head. Words formed there as well, but she failed to comprehend at the moment. The effects of her fear still clung to whatever it could, attempting to drag her back toward the approaching darkness.**

####  **The object behind her kept her from doing so, however. Instead, the solid form gripped her around the waste and hauled her backward. The solidity over her mouth tightened gently. It seemed to only serve as a warning against screaming. She knew this sensation, knew the object standing behind her encased in raw power and warmth. At least, she thought she did. Her soul sang to it, called out for it to understand her. She felt the need to spin around and lay eyes upon it while it stood there. If only she could muster the strength. She wondered on its purpose. She sensed it didn’t mean her harm. Quite the opposite.**

####  **It was there to protect her.**

####  **Then, she realized why as a large black form emerged from the trees. With every fiber of her being, Whitney bit back the urge to scream. The warm object over her mouth clamped tighter as the thing in black shrieked. The grating cry shook Whitney to the bone. She couldn’t describe the noise and didn’t want to, but it burned itself in her brain. She’d never heard something so horrifying. It cried again and Whitney felt the sting of tears. She wanted to flee, but the form behind her kept her from it.**

####  **Something gleamed beside her. Glancing over, Whitney caught the silver of metal. A sharp blade hung there strapped upon a thick thigh. The strapping seemed simple, a single piece of leather and a metal bracket hooked somewhere under the grimy shirt of her protector. A leather housing held something oblong that jutted downward in a curve. The handle seemed worn and dull, but as she strained her eyes to view the remaining portion of the object, she knew immediately the rest was not.**

####  **It was a machete. The sharpened edge rose and fell, beautifully crafted for its work. She felt a slight murmur within her at what that work actually entailed.**

####  **Then, the knife moved, and her eyes capture a glimpse of the figure holding her against him.**

####  **With a shudder, she woke.**

####  *********

####  **At first, he noticed no sound. A quiet hung around him thick like humid air. If he could do so, the sharp blade of his machete would perforate the silence easily in one swing. But he didn’t care for the trivial matter. He wasn’t where he should have been. The earth itself seemed off, and as Jason found himself stepping carefully through the thick trees of the forest he had come to know so well, he sensed the haze to be almost dreamlike. It clouded everything, disorienting him. Among the vegetation, he could sense something had changed. It clung to the bark and leaves rustling in an invisible wind while an aura hung above the canopy. He didn’t fancy it immediately, a sense of unease wiping his insides in anxiety.**

####  **Then, his keen nose caught something he’d never smelled before.**

####  **He could almost taste it. An enticing mint dripping with a sweet aroma of flora he couldn’t recognize. That type of flower didn’t grow in the mountains. It was rich like the honey his mother added to his tea, causing his entire focus to shift toward the source. At first, Jason didn’t think to run. His caution kept his mind at bay, the unknown lingering on every branch. He was a hunter some days, but a survivor through and through. He didn’t dare blast through the shrubs and undergrowth toward something he didn’t understand.**

####  **So, he pushed through with the grace of a stalking panther. His footfalls fell silent, a motion he’d forced himself and his large size to encompass. His skin numbed to the usual bite of a chill and no sound met his ears. The normal crunch of a twig under his large boots would give away his location to his prey. This was different. The only thing he could hear seemed to be the whisper of the leaves in the unseen wind and his own, ragged breath.**

####  **Finally, he broke through into a clearing. The drowsy morning sunshine split through the hazy sky, spilling upon the glassy surface of the lake. His anticipated grave. He balked at the sight of it, horrible memories rushing him as the water rushed into his lungs. He didn’t want to be there, his skin turning clammy at the very thought of growing close to the surface. The overwhelming urge to flee gnawed at his limbs.**

####  **He moved on, following a lead he couldn’t shake. Of course, if he were anyone else, he wouldn’t have known the path to be there under the decaying leaves and sticks. His trained eyes, however, knew there to be one. He climbed the small hill onto it slowly, ascending into a shadowed area. A large, rotting trunk of a fallen tree hung over bushes. Long strands of moss draped over a small hovel, a perfect hiding spot. He halted as he scanned the perimeter, his eyes resting on something new.**

####  **Something as ethereal as the world around him seemed to be.**

####  **She was taller than most females he’d seen. Standing with her back to him, he couldn’t quite make out the sculpture of her face. The shirt upon her curving frame hung in places he didn’t remember female garments to dangle from, the stain of sweat causing the areas above her backside to change a darker hue. The scent he’d latched onto earlier smacked him in the nostrils as one would punch an enemy in the cheek. His breath escaped him, leaving his lungs screaming for more. He stilled like a stone statue, hovering between confusion and intrigue. Who was the she?**

####  **Her attention was captured elsewhere upon the path, toward the darkened trees and the shadowy aura he’d felt earlier. Her hair sparked in the watery sunlight while it waved across her spine. He couldn’t hear her, but the taut movements of her body spoke of her own fear. A fear he could smell along with her scent. It ran thick as blood and caused irritation to coil in his belly. She was afraid, but of what? His frustration grew immense, an overwhelming power to search for her source of horror and snuff it out. He didn’t fancy the feeling. It was an unknown and uncharted path he wished not to pursue.**

####  **Why was the sight of this girl any different than those of the previous ones he’d chased from the wood? It infuriated him. There were many other females before. None had struck him breathless. He’d never been one to find real interest in them as he attempted to survive and send them scurrying back to their own homes.**

####  **The girl standing before him had done so without even moving. Jason’s breath left him hurriedly, his lungs aching for respite. It seemed as if the girl held more meaning than that of someone intruding. He couldn’t lie and tell himself he hadn’t felt a tang of anger, but her ethereal form seemed to have captured the very sensation of rage from him.**

####  **A nasty thought began to raise its ugly head. He’d hoped to forget the nagging voice at the back of his mind reminding him of his deformity. In the years since his rebirth, there had been nothing to remind him of it. Trees and creatures barely cared for his looks, let alone the ground he tramped on. If she turned, she would see his face. She would flee from him with fear-stricken eyes and he would never see her. He didn’t like the lurch his insides made at the thought.**

####  **Normally, he wouldn’t have dreams. On certain occasions, his reveries were of his past life and the horrifying pictures of his mother’s dead corpse. It was the entire reason why he felt no need to sleep unless he had to. The vivid images before him were so real, he had only but to extend a great arm to brush the girl’s hair with his fingertips. It left him hollow and confused. This wasn’t his way of thinking, the irritation building even higher behind his sternum.**

####  **The girl shifted, her chin jerking toward the wood. The shadows writhed beyond his sight, but the aura reminded him of the old enemy he’d encountered a few days before. Of course, it would sense her. The permeation of her scent, the thundering of her heart in his ears, and the overwhelming grip of fear couldn’t be ignored. The creature was bound to find her. He had to do something.**

####  **The air froze, electricity sizzling with horrifying vibrations rattling across his skin. The machete at his side sang with them, his fingers clenching to fists. He needed to draw it. If he had noticed her, he knew the dark creature was coming for her. He could sense the evil creature hulking in the shadows of the trees. The girl felt it, as well. Her body stiffened, understanding right away she wasn’t alone. She hadn’t shown any signs of detecting his presence which should have allowed for relief to flow through his veins. None did and he was left with yet another odd sensation stirring in his belly.**

####  **Jason didn’t wait for the creature to part from the darkness. He hadn’t wanted to reach forward to capture her, but he found himself doing it all the same. He unconsciously captured her mouth with his hand to cover it, the fear of a scream luring the beast in the shadows to them pushing him to do so. One of his large arms snaked around her curving waist, holding her fast. She felt warm against his skin, her breath tickling the inside of his palm. She fell flush against him, which he hadn’t intended to allow. Yet, she was there, backside pressed against the hard muscles of his thighs. Her spine arched into his hip, the bone pushing softly at her flesh. Something stirred in that area below, causing a tension to bind itself in his belly. The tingle of nerves firing their warning shots blistered his insides with heat, that heat climbing its way like a spider up his neck.**

####  **And like that, he felt something beneath his sternum thump painfully. A rush of blood brought color to his cheeks, ears flaring with a newfound warmth. He yearned to claw at the area covering his breast plate, to rid himself of the unwarranted sensation. It spurned him. His breath came in bursts, the foreign nervousness causing slight anger to rile itself within him.**

####  **The thing roared, a splitting shriek echoing through the wood. He felt her fear rush him as the shadows parted to reveal their enemy. He held her tighter against him, hoping his movements would garner any unneeded fights from her. She simply remained quiet as if understanding exactly what he was attempting to do.**

####  **The creature meandered through the wood, seeking her as one sought water in the desert. For some reason, she’d done something to it to anger it. He could sense the flood of rage and pain pounding into the natural aura of the wood. It disrupted it with its power, causing everything to cringe and recoil from its wrath. Jason felt the same need to flee, but the girl within his arms called to him as one had never done. It distracted him from the wiles of the world surrounding the duo and he found he didn’t hate it. As a matter of fact, protecting her seemed the only thing on his mind.**

####  **The thing roared again, a strangled scream ripping itself from its throat. In seconds, it was gone again. The shadows followed and he was left alone with the girl clutched in his grip. She didn’t squirm to be released. She remained still, almost doll-like. He felt her breath upon his palm again, reminding him she was alive.**

####  **Then, she lurched from his grasp like a wile animal. Turning to him, he finally gained the ability to see her face.**

####  **Then, he awakened.**

####  **Jason lurched upright in his bed. A strangled gasp escaped his dried lips as he gripped the area just above his dead heart. He’d been so close to seeing her face. To knowing that part about her that he hadn’t seemed to learn yet. It angered him, left him disappointed. He resisted the urge to ransack the area that was his room to release his torment. He was a man. He was not a child.**

####  **The fabric just above his lifeless heart felt wet, sweat drenching the hard planes of muscles there. He hadn’t remembered being hot while he slept, but sleep came rarely for him. The random cat nap served as a perfect energy booster. Whenever he did fall asleep, the dreams would plague him. They tugged at his lifeless heart like vultures upon a corpse.**

####  **No. His heart no longer felt dead anymore. It ached. A sensation he hadn’t detected in years. A small whisper of a beat could be felt, only to fall ghostly upon what it used to be. Of course, he knew the hunk of organ within his chest never would throb again. It had departed long ago. Yet, he couldn’t help but shake the newfound feeling.**

####  **Who had she been? He knew he’d seen her various times before, but they had all been distant. Surreal. This time, she been _there._ Just in front of him and he became fully aware of how close she’d gotten. To her smell. To her warmth. To every inch of _her._ He couldn’t see her face. Yet, she had been so real. **

####  **He couldn’t deny the sensations flying rampant under his skin. The tingle he’d felt in his dream didn’t subside. Instead, he could sense it crawling upon him like a bug. It disgusted him, but he knew nothing of what it actually was. It had felt foreign, a sweet tang upon his tongue that bit and burned. It felt like uncertainty and danger. Like fear and the unknown.**

####  **It also had felt right.**

####  **He reacted to her soft curves against his abdomen, her warmth flooding his body with sensations he didn’t really understand. She was much smaller than him, but he could feel a power beneath her skin that had yet to show. It pulsated there like the very veins within him. If he’d met her, he knew he could never deem her weak. If he encountered her at all, he felt he’d always know her just by her smell and the aura that struck him.**

####  **For she was otherworldly. Different.**

####  **But she’d thrown herself from him so hurriedly. It left him weak, his interior left cold without her touch. An abysmal sensation of dread overwhelmed him at the slight inkling of fear she’d felt toward his form. He sensed only a small bit, but it had been there, nonetheless. Had she seen his face? Was that what she feared? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was the growing hole she’d left hadn’t faded as he’d hoped. If anything, it only seemed to cause his scars to deepen and ache.**

####  **But he couldn’t forget her. She’d always been in his dreams since he could remember. The day he’d noticed her presence seemed like eons ago, but he knew the time hadn’t been long. At first, he could only sense something odd among the visions plaguing him. They were calm and peaceful, luring him from the darkness of his nightmares and into a serene sense of being. Then, he began witnessing a fragile form. It was small initially, but as it grew, he’d felt himself grow with it. The years passed as he experienced these illusions, choosing to latch onto them as his only means of moving forward.**

####  **Soon, however, he learned the subject to be female. A fragile, yet strong vibration hummed through his mind and for some reason, he had known immediately. He’d seen a curving figure dance and enjoy the life given, feel the joy at new discoveries and the heartbreak of loss. He understood her too well, felt the immense hurt as it wrecked her body and soul. Something happened then, something terrible. He’d also wished with every fiber of his being that he could aid her somehow. But, he could only observe.**

####  **He would awaken. A sense of loss would flood him immediately, his stomach knotting with the pain. It lasted for a moment, until his chores needed to be done. He would rise against the depression and begin his day. This occurred for years without faltering. He learned to latch upon the peace his visions gave him, relishing in the gift that it was to even experience them. The dreams had never been real until now. They had never felt so alive.**

####  **With an angry groan, Jason swung his legs over the side of the bed and rose to begin chores. The morning light spilled upon the dusty wooden floor of his lodge, piercing through the veil of grime to shine against the polished surface. His nerves shook from the dream, the smell and sights he’d seen playing before his eyes. He only wished the girl were real. If she was, he could imagine her daily life felt much more eventful than his.**

####  **He could picture her among the giant, towering buildings the people referred to as skyscrapers. For some reason, she didn’t fit among them and he would dash the image. From what he’d gathered, she belonged in a smaller throng of people if not the wilderness itself. She was too pure for the tainted concrete jungle, a sense of over-protection washing through him at the thought of the filth among those people. But it wasn’t his call. She wasn’t real. If she were, she’d live her own life.**

####  **What only mattered to Jason was seeing her again in his dreams.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading and stay tuned for more. Kudos and comments are always welcomed! It lets me know what you think. Feedback is what I live for, besides writing of course. Sorry the format is kinda funky. I dont know how to fix it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story is told.  
> Whitney gets her first taste of the woods that seem to call to her.  
> And thank god for running water!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!  
> First up, I know this chapter is LONG. But its needed.  
> Canon version has the story of Jason being told at the campfire, but I have other things planned for that scene, so Wade tells it in the van.  
> No Amanda stripping, guys. I'm sorry.  
> This chapter took forever to edit because I am a picky, picky person. I still don't feel 100% on it but eh. Tell me what you think!  
> The story within this story had to be tweaked A LOT because...ya know...picky.  
> Comment what you all think and leave kudos if you haven't.

“Stories don't always have happy endings.  
This stopped him. Because they didn't, did they? That's one thing the monster had definitely taught him. Stories were wild, wild animals and went off in directions you couldn't expect.”  
― **Patrick Ness,**[ **A Monster Calls**](https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/13492114)

“Then, I turned to him and said…” Wade’s face hardened for a moment. “Bear, how dare you steal those doughnuts. They aren’t yours. They’re my mom’s and she will kill me if she finds them missing.”

Whitney drank in the chemical smell of the van for what seemed the 1000th time during the trip as laughter from the others rang in her ears. A mix of perfume from Amanda and tortilla chips from Mike lingered there, too. It’d become slightly familiar and slightly annoying at how cramped she’d gotten. Her knees bumped her chest, toes curled against the cushion of the seat. Her boots lay strewn across the floorboard of the van.

She’d heard most of the story already. Wade’s family had been feet above sea level in the mountains. There was a bear, and something about doughnuts, and a scuffle. She didn’t remember the rest, but she felt the boring atmosphere begin to build even more than before the story. Still, it beat napping. She’d done so much of it since leaving the Oklahoma border, not to mention the ache throbbing in her temple from reading off her phone for so long.

“Find anything good?” Mike leaned in, the smell of tortilla chips pervading the air around her.

She jumped, almost losing the device. “Oh, Lord. Mike, what the hell?”

“I’m sorry. I should have let you know I was right here.” He smirked, the occasional passing streetlamp illuminating a crooked grin.

“Yeah,” She sighed, glancing up toward the front. Richie slapped his knee at another hilarious turn in Wade’s story. “I was getting to a good part.”

“So was Wade, apparently. How many times has he told the story today?”

“How many hours have we been on the road?” Whitney asked, eyes falling back to the novel on her phone. Her story was laced with romance, a secret passion she’d grown that she wished to keep.

“I think ten. I’m not sure.”

Whitney scoffed. “There you have it.”

She scrolled through the lines of her story, attempting to drown out everything around her. Her mind, though, seemed elsewhere. Her thoughts lingered on the vivid dream she’s experienced two truck stops ago. No sound enclosed her, leading her to believe she was not awake. Air heavy with waves of an ethereal nature hung around her head.

Then, he had been there. She’s been positive it was the man she’d seen many times before. The vibrations of familiarity rattled through her. Large, grimy hands she could still feel encased her lips. As she’d inhaled, she could smell the scent of earth and pine sap. The fingers were solid, almost inhuman in their strength. Yet, they hadn’t crushed her when they surely could. They were warm, filling her veins with a sense of calm she didn’t understand. Should she have screamed? She easily could have let the sound tear from her throat.

She didn’t attempt it, though. Something told her not to. Maybe it had been him behind her, warning her of the possible danger that could have befallen them if she dared make a sound. The source of impending doom could not be seen but it was there. Shadow cloaked its form, writhing and twisting around it. If she could see it, she didn’t want to. Fear struck her through, her core cringing.

There had also been the feel of him behind her. Hard muscles pressed firmly into her spine, sending unknown sensations through her body. It both confused and intrigued her. He felt safe. He was a shelter amidst a horrid storm. He only had to grip her to keep her from blowing away.

In dreams past, he’d never touched her, and she’d never seen him up close. There were various times she’d been feet from him, but to feel him was something entirely different. The wood seemed darker, the impending sensation of doom pressing down from all angles. His arm had snaked around her waist as he’d drug her back into the looming trees.

In a flash of light cast by silver, Whitney had glanced down and spotted something glaring upward toward the creature. She couldn’t make out features except for ice blue irises. In an instant, the eye met hers. Time seemed to slow, and the pale cobalt orbs splintered her through. Soon after, she’d awakened. Everything had been so real; she could still feel the heat of his fingers upon her lips. She could taste the salt of his palm while it pressed down in warning. It stirred her heart, fear slicing through her like a fine sword.

A hand fluttered in front of her. She glanced up, unsure of whose it had been. Mike’s face beamed, bringing Whitney back to reality. “Yes, Mike?”

“We’re about to make another stop. You need anything?” He asked.

Whitney thought a moment, her mind still hung upon the unanswered questions of her dream. For a second, she didn’t feel as if she could stomach anything. The prospect of food left a disgusting taste in her mouth. She hadn’t eaten anything, though, except for a bag of chips. She needed something.

She nodded. “Yeah, I could use something.”

Richie had chosen to drive for a moment before they stopped. They were somewhere in lower Washington, near the Oregon border. She wasn’t sure which town; she’d lost track a while ago. The book on her phone and the frequent naps kept her mind lost, the occasional snippet from Wade’s five stories forcing her to refocus on her own.

Donning her boots again, Whitney bent to follow Mike to the door. Once outside, Whitney’s eyes regarded the area around her.

The mid-morning air was serene, a breeze tossing her loose locks. The crisp and clean atmosphere felt refreshing in comparison to the stagnant aroma of the van. It danced across the treetops encompassing the tiny travel plaza, sending shoots of a chill up her spine. She shivered, snugging the thin coat draped over her shoulders a tad tighter.

Springtime in the mountain states struck her positively different compared to spring back home. In Oklahoma, the weather turned whenever it felt like it, leaving those in its wake to ponder on the next bout of its wrath. Tornadoes were frequent, rain torrents sheeting to cover the cyclones.

As they plodded across the dark asphalt of the parking area, she admired the smell of her surroundings. The tone felt lighter and less humid than Oklahoma’s atmosphere. The space cleared her nostrils if not burned them a bit with its chill. Still, she found herself delighted to drink it in and the sensation of it as it tickled the exposed skin of her wrists.

Cars passing by even seemed to dull compared to home. In the capitol, vehicles were louder and more abundant. She figured there were more in larger cities, but here, there were few. It delivered a sense of peace she’d missed. It felt almost as if she were stuck in the country once again. It was a small respite to soothe her nerves.

A tiny chime indicated their entrance to the travel stop. The artificial lights cast an eerie, green glow upon the products within the travel store. The stagnant smell of cleaning chemicals met Whitney’s nose, but she stepped forward with wallet in hand to find something small to eat. Her stomach growled as if reading her thoughts. Her earnest search began, her feet trailing down isles to seek sustenance. Eventually, she selected a large bag of chips and a large drink.

At the counter, Whitney observed the various literature while waiting her turn. Richie greeted the clerk, a tall man with glasses who’d seen better days, and Whitney listened to Richie’s ecstatic explanation of their vacation plans. To the girl’s amusement, the clerk seemed to care only about what Richie used to pay instead of the daily entertainment plans Wade had lined out during the trip.

They were in Hood River, Oregon. The name appeared on the most recent newspapers offered for sale. Whitney eyed the paper, reading the headlines before she stepped forward. Mike began checking out his items, the clerk’s tired eyes raking over the objects Mike had collected. Whitney’s own eyes caught something else entirely.

A missing person’s poster. It hung haphazardly as if forgotten by time. Whitney had been too young when the poster had been placed there. The old black and white picture was of a girl smiling back seemed faded. Her information was typed neatly upon the curling paper, her name worn to the point of illegibility. Whitney couldn’t help but feel a sting of sadness, wondering if the girl was every located. Her last known whereabouts had been in Washington, near a town named Cougar. Perhaps Whitney had heard of it before, but the thought lingered a moment until it dissipated.

Finally, she approached the counter and bought her items. Then, they were out the door and back into the van. Wade chose to drive the remaining hours before they arrived. The last hour stretch before them seemed to Whitney like the longest of the entire trip. The van turned onto a large highway before veering off and toward a toll booth. Wade paid the toll and their vehicle lurched forward onto a long stretch of bridge.

Whitney glanced out toward the dark blue water beyond green steel beams supporting the structure. The sun cast itself upon the surface of the river, sparking white in the illumination. Rippling waves crested below, white sail boats tottering against them. The grandeur before her spreading to unfathomable lengths seemed to catch her very breath.

She felt a pang of guilt. The entire trip had been her nose in a book, or phone screen. She hadn’t seen but bits and pieces of the world around her. She’d never taken a trip outside of Oklahoma, and her usual sense of adventure now fell at her feet in a crumpled mess. She blamed it upon her recent stress, the fact that she didn’t wish to see various landscapes for the first time. She’s been too far into her story and too far away from the trip to even appreciate what sceneries transformed around her.

The Hood River bridge stretched beyond from the Oregon border to the Washington side. The river, Whitney realized, served as a boundary between the two states. Underneath their tires, grated roadway flashed gleaming water. Whitney couldn’t see it as they passed, but glimpses of it were caught just off to the side of the van. It sped by with their acceleration, leaving her eyes to strain a little.

Hills reared on the other side, dotted here and there with dark green trees. Whitney glanced down to the river again to see more hills shaded in mist. The scene sputtered her heart with excitement, her guilt pressing a little in the same area. She should have paid more attention to her surroundings on the trip. She felt she’s missed so much. She bit the inside of her cheek, a perplexing bout of anger rising to the back of her throat.

She would change, she vowed. She would observe the different types of landscapes and immerse herself within the world. She would actually _enjoy_ her vacation. The much-needed space between her and her stress began twenty-eight hours ago. She had to enjoy what she could.

Whitney leaned toward the window to observe the passing river water and boats. Soon, they slipped under a netting of the same green support beams. Shadows swiped the ground under their van, the occasional warning sign deterring anything over a certain height to pass. No sign indicated the change in state, but Whitney could feel the tug on her heart solidify a little as they cleared the covered portion of the bridge. The same tug she sensed in her dreams. For some reason, her soul felt a sensation of relief. Pushing down it as best she could, she sat back against the cushion as the van bumped back onto land.

“Welcome to Washington, y’all.” Wade announced joyfully.

The van turned west at an intersection after leaving from the bridge. Tall stands of trees with newly green leaves fluttered beside the vehicle as Whitney’s gazed focused on the hills beyond. Many other cars or trucks passed them once they turned, a long stretch of two-lane highway their final obstacle before they arrived.

Trees shrouded either side of the thoroughfare. Tiny drives leading to houses among the shade were covered in dirt or gravel. They were tucked comfortably within the confines of the forest and Whitney couldn’t help wondering if they served as protection. These driveways were spread sporadically out through the countryside, various mailboxes revealing the secret to their hidden hideout.

“Hey, Wade, tell us another story.” Richie announced. “Isn’t there anything better than countless stories of your family?”

Whitney turned her attention from the river toward the men up front. 

“I thought you liked my stories, Richie?” Wade’s slightly offended voice wined as he turned the wheel of the van. Whitney observed even more trees flashing past in a blur of green and grey. Occasionally, a view of a giant lake would fly by. Blue waters sparked in the rays of the sun, various tourists riding gleaming white boats speedily through the waves.

“We’ve heard the same stories for at least twenty-eight hours strait. There had to be another story without your parents.” Amanda groaned. Even though Whitney didn’t like the girl much, she would have had to agree.

Whitney could rehearse the lines from every story Wade told from start to finish. Her favorite, at least the one she didn’t wince at too much, involved the bear and the doughnuts. She couldn’t help stifling a chuckle while Wade’s voice changed, emphasizing the different members of his family during the tale. Still, after hearing it forty times during their trip, she’d been more than willing to dive into her novel while he began the ballad again.

Wade thought a moment, Mike leaning in to rest his arms upon the backside of the bench. Everyone followed suit, even Whitney, at the prospect of something new. After what seemed like eons, Wade’s eyes lit up behind his spectacles.

“There is one, I think.” He stated, holding his index finger toward the ceiling. “But I was saving it for the camp sight.”

“Naw,” Richie expressed with a curled lip. “We’ve got time. Besides, I don’t want to hear anything spooky when we’re out in the middle of nowhere.”

Whitney agreed silently. From what Wade explained before, the camping sight nestled near a lake frequented by hardly anyone. Everything seemed out of date or older than what was compatible with modern technology. Whitney didn’t find the idea of complete isolation a bad thing. Quite the contrary. She felt a need to separate herself from the norm. Noises from the street, dogs barking, and other various things she’s learned to tune out filled her ears but otherwise fell on deaf ones. However, she found herself slightly irritated thanks to her recently horrid moods.

The quiet, surrounded by trees and bugs, seemed like heaven.

“This story took place at least over a hundred years ago.” Wade began. The entire van fell silent, Amanda turning down the radio. “In a small township located somewhat near the area we’re about to camp at.”

Whitney cocked her head a bit. Why did something like that sound familiar? A township located near a lake? She knew it, or the figment of such a thing, perhaps.

“In this time, there were still some people who practiced witchcraft, or magic. It was more so a medical sort of thing. Women were the only one’s normally associated with the craft and there happened to be one in this particular settlement.”

Whitney quirked a brow. Witchcraft was far from any sort of story subject she would have chosen. She’d heard bits and pieces of the lore behind the times, but never once believed it. A strange ache formed in her chest at the mention, as if someone she knew perished because of the profession. A slight bit of anger curled in her chest, as well. Were they her emotions, or someone else’s?

“In the community,” Wade continued. “The local witch healed the sick and mended the broken. She was apparently a good woman, and everyone loved her.”

The sensation of familiarity gripped her soul and Whitney clutched the section of her shirt above her heart. She didn’t understand the sudden rush of sentiment. She knew the woman Wade spoke of. Her name had left her long ago, but she recognized who he spoke of. Or, at least, she thought she did. Pushing down odd sensations building in her throat, she continued to listen.

“Mostly, the witch held a very high success rate in healing her patients. She was very good at making balms and salves for healing rashes or break outs. She also concocted many internal medications from various herbs and plants. She was held in high regard.” Wade stated. “She was very good at what she did, and everyone trusted her to the highest extent.”

Whitney saw a flash of a face only briefly inside her mind. She blinked against them, seeing various stages of time pass by. Tall, old buildings stood upon muddy ground. Candlelight flickered in the window. A symbol of an opening. A woman was there, hovering over her and pressing a damp cloth upon her forehead. She was sick, her body screaming as something consumed it from the inside.

“When the mayor’s only daughter fell ill, the woman tried to heal just like she had the others. However, it was a sickness she’d never seen before in any of her patients. Rumor in the story has it that it wasn’t actually a sickness after all, but something far worse.” 

“Yeah,” Richie yawned. “Boredom.”

Amanda smacked his arm roughly. “Richie, stop. This is actually a really good one so far.”

“Go ahead, Wade.” Mike urged.

Wade nodded. “So, the healer attempted everything she possibly could to heal the little girl. To no avail, however. The stories surrounding the township say that that lake was supposed to have healing waters. It was part of the reason why the witch was so good at what she did. Her elixirs and salves were made from the water and it aided in curing almost everything. But, it didn’t help the little girl’s case at all. It didn’t seem to work, which led the witch to believe it was something darker.”

Amanda gasped. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.” Wade dramatically sighed. “The little girl ended up passing away from her ‘sickness’. Her father grew angry. He believed the healing waters should have helped, but the witch informed him it was a sickness she had not seen before and nothing worked. The mayor’s anger grew into insanity and he felt the woman had wronged him somehow.”

Whitney’s heart crooned, melancholy filling every pore and vein. She glanced out her window, trees whipping past. Her thoughts mingle among the green blurs outside, confusion clouding any others. Those trees called to her, their song dripping with a lamentation she should have known. A vibration deep within her spirit knew the forest and the story. Yet, she didn’t.

“The witch had a child of her own,” Wade continued. “A boy. But he wasn’t just any boy. He was deformed.”

A unanimous gasp filled the van.

“Some called him a monster, but he wasn’t. He was kind and thoughtful. The only reason they allowed him to stay there was the very fact that the mother had been the town healer.”

“What’s that got to do with the little girl’s death and her father’s anger?” Mike asked with narrowed eyes. Whitney sipped on her soda.

“It has everything to do with the fact that the little girl was the only person besides his mother to treat him kindly. She was his best friend.” Wade explained with an inclination of his head. “So, the mother understood all too well the loss that impacted the life of the family because it impacted her son’s as well. She was sad and torn because of it, knowing full well the illness that had befallen the girl was not physical. If anything, it had something to do with the father’s wicked ways.”

“Wicked ways?” 

“Yeah, you see,” Wade explained. “He was not a very nice man. He’d been rumored to go around behind his wife’s back and sleep with the local bar maids. He drank a lot and would strike her out of anger. He was technically evil. So, the witch believed his evil was tainting his little girl.”

“How do you know this?” Mike narrowed his eyes in disbelief.

“Local library, Google, and Wikipedia. You name it. The stories are hard to find, but I did some digging.”

Amanda sniffled; eyes cast out toward the flashing trees. “It’s sounds so sad.”

“It’s not done, though. The mayor was so angry with the healer’s failure to save his daughter, that he stormed her home with various other townsfolk and dragged her from her bed in the early hours of the morning.”

“Oh, my!” Amanda exclaimed, her hand covering her mouth in shock.

“So,” Mike pondered. “He was mad because the witch tried so hard to help his daughter. That sounds ridiculous.”

Wade shook his head, glancing in the rearview to speak to Mike. “Not entirely the case. People were highly impressionable back then. They believed anything, and then if it went wrong, they got mad and sought revenge.”

“Wow,” Richie exclaimed. “Sounds a little bit like today, but more western.”

Whitney nodded slightly. He wasn’t wrong. As a matter of fact, if her freelance research was correct, she had seen various accounts of the type of anger Wade described in people. If the Witch Trials in Salem were anything to go by, then civilians back then were very gullible to anything. Different artifacts uncovered from the time period suggested many merchants swindled the people with only a simple placebo. Their pocketbooks sang with the change acquired from the vulnerable folk they drained. Modern day merchants, or salesmen, were no different but their ploys were more strategic.

Since the mentioning of the township, Whitney wondered if her ancestors had anything to do with the said incident. Her mother hadn’t mentioned her long lost past much, but she had informed her of the very fact that her great-great-umpteen great grandparents were, in fact, from around in the area. The history had been lost, unfortunately, due to certain life events. Yet, Whitney had forever grown curious and kept the idea to gather more information in the future after everything negative passed.

Yet, her mother’s ailment had taken it toll upon her family and she no longer held onto that dream. The idea slipped away as did her motivation to seek it.

“So, what happens next?” Amanda urged; her large eyes even more rotund than before. “What did the mayor do?” 

Wade shook his head. “The angry mayor burst into the witch’s house in the early morning and had his henchmen drag her to a clearing in the woods. There, he tied her to a pole and began interrogating her.

“What was forgotten about, though, is her son.” Wade continued. “Her son was still asleep in his room when he heard his mother’s screams as they drug her outside. He followed the protests until he reached the clearing where he found his mother being struck for information.”

“Oh, no.” Whitney breathed. She felt a pain like a vice upon her heart.  
  


“Okay, man, whoa.” Mike’s face fell. “Did they not realize she had a kid?”

“They knew,” Wade clarified. “In his rage, the mayor didn’t care.”

“So,” Richie leaned forward. “He just watched from where he was at as his mother was beaten?”

Wade nodded, turning onto yet another road. In the distance, Whitney could see a towering mountain capped with white. She didn’t know its name, but the acquainted sensation rushed through her. She’s seen it before, even though she knew for certain she’d never stepped foot on Washington soil in her life.

  
“He’d arrived at the last part of it. He watched as the mayor claimed the witch had killed his daughter. She pleaded with him, told him he was wrong, but he didn’t believe her. She could see her son in the hiding spot he chose and urged him to run.”

Mike asked. “Did he run?”

“No,” Wade replied. “He didn’t run, and the mayor asked where her son was. The witch didn’t disclose any information on his whereabouts, but they found him soon enough. When they went for him, his mother screamed. That’s not the worst part of it, however.”

Everyone waited for the dramatic pause to end. Wade, satisfied, gazed ahead onto the road with no inclination of continuing. Everyone felt themselves fold, the pressure pounding to intimately within Whitney’s breast to keep her from breathing regularly.

“Wade…” Mike warned. “What happened _next?_ ”

Wade inhaled. “One of the townsfolk beheaded her. Right in front of her son.”

Whitney felt the color drain from her cheeks. The thought of a child witnessing a parent’s death hit harder than she would have imagined. Her brain rushed back to her own mother, sickened and pale. She could have cursed the illness, damned it to hell if she wanted to, but it did little to actually fix anything. She recalled the overwhelming rage burning intensely through her system. The flames curled and licked at her soul, deepening the hatred already pooling at the base of her sternum. 

She’d have given anything to help fix her mother. She didn’t dare imagine seeing her death in plain view.

For some reason, she sensed the abyss of despair coiled within the story as if the emotions were her own. The feelings of fear coursed through her veins. A bite of wind and trickle of warm blood down her arms came vivid as the cushioned seat felt beneath her legs. She was running for her life, but she did not cry. She couldn’t. The thundering of her heart and the racing of her breath seemed to be the only sound.

“He ran, then. As fast as he could through the trees and away from the coming swarm of people. It was almost like a mob in a fairy tale. They held torches while screaming and yelling to find him.” Wades voice was a reverberation within her mind as she vividly saw the images of a fleeing child.

Whitney could feel a warmth trickle down her cheek. It trailed past her nose before she caught it, her fingertips glinting in the sunlight with moisture. She didn’t realize she was crying until she couldn’t stop the sting. The intense sensation of loss enveloped her heart in darkness. She couldn’t shake it from her core.

“Finally, the boy made it to a clearing and a lake. He didn’t know where to go as they surrounded him on all sides. They hated him for what he was and wanted to be rid of him. They’d never treated him like a normal human being before. They’d always picked on him and spat on him. This was the sole driving force for doing what they did next.”

Everyone leaned forward. Wade’s eyes fell to the steering wheel. Whitney felt herself sniffle, the throbbing sensation of despair lancing her heart. Tears stung at the corner of her eyes, threatening to fall once again. She still wasn’t sure if the emotion was her own, or if it belonged to someone else entirely. Still, she couldn’t quell it and the very fact that her vivid imagination harbored the images of such a horrifying scene left her baffled and torn.

“Please don’t tell me what happens next.” Amanda covered her ears with her hands. Whitney believed if she did the same, it wouldn’t help.

“The townsfolk surrounded him and grabbed him from all sides, the strongest men lurching forward onto the dock of the lake and taking the struggling boy with them. And,” Wade paused, voice faltering as he began again. “They threw him from it and into the water.”

“Whoa,” Richie breathed.

“Well, he could just swim to shore, right?” Mike’s hopeful voice sent shards of positive vibrations into Whitney’s heart. Though, toward the rear of her mind, she knew the outcome. She’d always known. Something informed her of such.

“No,” Wade’s voice weakened. “The boy could not swim, and he tried for hours until it was too much for him and he sank to the bottom. The townsfolk left him to die there and went about their way to town. They didn’t even bother burying the body of his mother.”

“Okay, that’s horrible.” Richie shook his head. “Who would do that?”

“Jerks.” Amanda snorted.

“He was eleven.” Wade added. “He was too young to understand why it had occurred.”

A unanimous groan erupted through the van. Whitney glanced outside again, attempting to rid her mind of the vice her heart seemed to be in. Sympathy arose toward the little boy who perished. She couldn’t see him, or his face, but felt the horrifying cold encompass her body as he descended into the dark depths of the lake. The cling to life outweighed the nagging bite of chilly water while fingers fanned out toward the waning light above. He faded into the abyss, forgotten like he was nothing to begin with.

“What makes this story so scary? It’s just horrible, not frightening.” Mike broke through Whitney’s thoughts. “I heard others say it was a ghost story?”

“Yeah,” Richie interjected. “What makes it so horrible? Besides the killing of a woman and drowning of a child? Don’t forget the fact that it’s completely messed up.”

Wade snorted. “Well, rumor has it the boy had powers like his mom. He was magical, too. So, in all his rage, he rose from the water with murderous intent to kill those who wronged him and his mother.”

“Bull.” Amanda scoffed. “That can’t be true.” 

“Well,” Wade shrugged. “That’s what the people say. There’s a reason why some people went missing in those parts long ago. Rumors have it he killed the mayor and everyone else in the town but left the mayor’s wife and two sons alive. Anyone who had tried to build houses there were either killed or run off and that’s why no one’s touched it.”

The missing poster from the travel plaza lodged itself in Whitney’s mind. The young girl’s faded smile, her name and location, and how old she’d been. She couldn’t help but shudder. Being from Oklahoma, Whitney had experienced more than her fair share of drama. Reports of shootings sprang up on the news in the morning before she went to school. Gang fights erupted in downtown Oklahoma City, but nothing the police couldn’t solve. It seemed; the drowning of the little boy remained unsolved. No one knew of his plight or cared.

She was reminded of a slasher film she’d watched long ago. The wronged son avenged his mother who had been brutally murdered by camp counselors. His wrath brought many to his sacred ground, but most of the young adult’s escapades ended in blood. She couldn’t help wondering if the story Wade shared mimicked the movie or not. It seemed too different, yet still somewhat similar.

“The boy actually befriended the little girl who died,” Wade proclaimed. “So, I don’t see why his mom would kill her.”

“She didn’t.” Whitney spoke. Everyone turned to look at her. “I don’t think she did it on purpose at least.”

“Why do you say that?” Richie’s eyebrows rose in wonder.

“Because,” Whitney clarified, “back then, there were sicknesses even their medicine couldn’t cure. So, the little girl probably had something the witch didn’t know about.”

“Didn’t you say there were healing properties in the water?” Richie inquired. “Why didn’t she make a healing potion or something for the little girl?”

“It’s just a story. The healing properties of the water is a rumor.” Wade scoffed. “There isn’t such a thing as a healing lake.”

“That makes sense, though, that the witch would find something she couldn’t cure.” Mike leaned forward. “I mean, we have developed amazing medical technologies and practices to this day but, back then, they didn’t have much.”

“Certain diseases can arise from the smallest things,” Whitney stated, applying her medical knowledge. At least, what she’d learned so far. “Over time, the body can also become resistant to certain cures. Even the most cure all type medicine can become obsolete.”

Everyone nodded in unison. It made sense to her, yet the tiny voice in her head sought a different answer. Was it possible that the lake involved was, in fact, a conduit for healing powers? She didn’t believe in such things but certain tales involving curative agents of nature had been known to attract others from all over. They would wander into midst of danger, just to perish to the elements or hazards within.

“So, the boy’s mother was wrongly accused?” Richie asked.

“Yes.” Wade replied. “The age of the witch trials was beginning to wane and people were very suspicious of ‘healers’ who used practices other than what the people were used to.”

“What about the boy?” Amanda leaned forward.

“The story says he came back to life and now guards the woods. They claim he’s a man, raw and horrifying.”

“But, if the rumors or true and he’s still alive, he’s got to be hundreds of years old.” Richie exclaimed in confusion. “That doesn’t make sense to me”

“Someone mentioned he aged slowly. Perhaps it was the healing properties of the lake water.” Wade shrugged, turning again. 

“What’s this about him being deformed?” Mike asked.

“He _was_ deformed. Back then, people didn’t take kindly to those who were not normal.”

“How deformed?” Amanda inquired, lashes fluttering and manicured nails lightly covering her mouth.

“His body was fine, but his face was monstrous.” Wade clarified. “He had no hair and lopsided eyes. He didn’t wear a mask, either. The townsfolk hated him because of how horrifying his face was, and after the girl died, they had no reason to trust his mom or allow him to live.”

“Wow,” Amanda glanced down. “That’s barbaric.”

“How shallow.” Whitney whispered. She couldn’t imagine hating someone for how they appeared on the outside. In truth, she didn’t detest anyone at all. Sure, there were others who could’ve used a good kick in the teeth, but she felt Karma could perform that task. There were other things vying for her attention.

Mike nodded. “Yeah, people were like that back then, I guess. They still are.”

“True,” She agreed. “I just can’t imagine it.”

“It’s because you’re too nice, Whit. You can’t be mean if you tried.” His smile was genuine as it beamed down upon her. Her heart thudded and she returned his grin with one of her own.

“So,” Richie spoke. “Is that the end of the story?”

“I’m afraid so.” Wade declared regretfully. “There isn’t much left after that. Just rumors of missing people and burnt splotches in certain areas.”

“Burned spots? Why burned spots?” Mike asked.

“The locals claim he burns the bodies after he kills them to hide his trail. Destroy the evidence, per say.”

“Wow, how horrid.” Amanda curls her lip in disgust. “And here I was feeling a little sorry for him.”

“Yuck, Amanda.” Richie scoffed. “That’s disgusting.”

“Well,” Amanda stated remorsefully. “It’s kind of sad.”

The two bickered over the story while Whitney’s thoughts lingered upon the tale itself. The man, the boy, who had lost his life long ago in the lake felt familiar somehow. The tugging on her heart pulled a bit tighter as her mind roved over his death. For some reason, she felt the water surrounding her. It closed in on all sides, engulfing her lungs. She gulped automatically, feeling the cold bite into her skin as she sank farther down into the abyss.

Why was she feeling such things? It wasn’t as if she’d been there. At least, she didn’t think she could have been.

The scenery transformed around them, the surrounding trees making way for roads and buildings. Whitney’s eyes followed the different cars zooming about on their daily business. Modern structures and older ones mingled among the streets. The constructs were sparse, the town small. Their intended location was nestled farther up, near a nameless lake.

The sight of the boy’s murder.

Whitney’s breath hitched. Were they really staying in the area the disappearances occurred? If so, the entire idea was a bad one. She felt her heart seize with crippling fear. Why would they do something so stupid? Sure, the story had seemed just a story and the rumors were what locals used to pass the time. Still, if they were to be true, Whitney couldn’t imagine the sacrilege they would perform. It had been the sight of the boy’s home, and the murder of his mother. She wouldn’t set foot one something so sacred and disturbing.

“Wade?” Whitney spoke up through the settled silence.

“Yeah, Whit?”

“Where are was staying exactly?”

A pause filled the van with silence. It traversed a bump in the road, causing the contents to shift. Whitney felt her heart constrict; a buildup of anxiety willing just at the back of her throat. She hoped for nothing, wished for the stories to be untrue.

“We’re staying at a campground by a lake. Why?” He finally responded.

“Are you sure the rumors aren’t true?” She asked, worry lacing her words. “Isn’t that awfully close to where the story took place?”

“Whitney,” Mike gazed at her with a hint of his own concern. “None of it’s true.”

The gaze she pinned him with made him cower against the plush seat. He couldn’t comprehend the level of fear rising inside her. She wouldn’t dare traverse across something someone considered sacred. No matter how true, or fake, the stories painted the incident. There had to be some truth to it. It bounded against everything her morals stood for. Desecrating the area of a brutal murder seemed…barbaric. Sinful. Unkind.

Everything Whitney was not.

“The story isn’t true, Whit.” Wade reassured her. “It’s just a story. Besides, the campground isn’t even remotely close to where the township was. The lake might be slightly the same, but it’s just a tale. It isn’t true.”

“What about the disappearances?” She narrowed her eyes. “Are those real, too?”

“Yes.” Wade noted. “But they are searching for the culprit and there hasn’t been very many of them in quiet some time. So, I think we are good.”

Whitney sighed audibly. Of course, she would overact. Her nerves were shot, and mind blown open to panic and questions she felt herself unable to answer. If she were to guess, the area near the nameless lake was uninhabited because of the stories. That would include the campground. Hopefully, it stayed that way. She didn’t want to be near a place of such carnage.

Yet, something nudged at the back of her mind. The pull again. She remembered her dream and the glassy lake stretching before her eyes. The darkness writhing like snakes beyond her line of site, and the dark form much larger than any creature she’d ever seen stalking out from beyond the shadows. She could still feel the warmth her savior’s hand pressing tightly against her lips. The smell of pine and earth enveloped her, and the tug yanked harder.

“Look, everyone,” Amanda announced, using a hand to wave. “We’re getting close!”

Whitney glanced outside the van, the town disappearing into more dark trees. Sure enough, she could see the various driveways once again dotting the area. The tug grew stronger, they were closing into whatever she felt pulling on her soul. She couldn’t pin it down, the confusion leaving Whitney’s mind blank.

The road became precariously rough. Sunlight slanted through a thick canopy above their van, dipping into the shadows of dotting holes throughout the little street. Wind and soil erosion over years of neglect. Whitney felt her heart bump with every jolt of the van. Her nerves fired warning shots with every inch they covered toward the campground.

She couldn’t shake its pull, her brain short wiring. The crushing sensation caused beads of sweat to form upon her forehead, her skin clammy under her jacket. Her mind thought back to the very day she’d accepted the invitation. Would she regret it later? She hoped she wouldn’t. Still, the enveloping feeling of an impending doom crept across her skin like a nasty spider. Surely the stories were untrue. Surely there hadn’t been a brutal murder of a mother and child. Surely, there wasn’t a vengeful son lurking among the trees and awaiting imprudent youngsters like them to wonder upon his sacred ground.

The tugging sensation of her soul whispered otherwise.

The little area the van pulled into lay overgrown and somewhat desolate. There were few hookups for any sort of camping vehicle. It was perfect for their intended use. She reminded herself of her need for isolation and shook her head against the urge to communicate with the outside world. The peace would do her some good, she figured.

No one seemed to be using the campground at the time, bare stalls for campers left alone for ages. Once bare gravel patches were now encumbered with weeds. Wooden posts for RV’s were withered and rotted, the boxes upon their faces rusted with the passing of time. No one had seemed to use the area in eons. It should have been a relief to Whitney but seeing no one seemed to dig a small hole of unease on top of what she already felt. She shook her head to rid herself of it. She needed to enjoy her vacation, not dread every shadow she assumed to be moving.

Wade chose the farthest area from the road. A wide tract of dirt with sparse shoots of grass appeared ahead of them. A small and overgrown graveled area signified the place to park their van and Wade pulled in. By the time they began unloading, the evening sunlight speared through the whispering trees and spilled golden waves upon the waving grass at their feet. The air seemed mild, Whitney shedding her jacket and deeming the t-shirt underneath to suffice. Soon, the temperature would drop. She didn’t toss the cover aside, instead, choosing to wrap it around her waist and tie it in front of the zipper on her jeans. It hung on her hips lazily, the extra pressure grounding her slightly.

The area surrounded her with silence. There were no cars driving by, or any noise rendering the place inhabitable by civilization. It took Whitney a few blinks before she realized she was, in fact, not among the great forests of a fantasy novel. For some reason, the thought alone caused her a bit of regret. Having been nose deep in her novel for the greater period of their trip, her mind didn’t want to relinquish the idea of true reality. Her fear of the story Wade weaved was proof enough to cause her to recoil against the shadows.

Yet, the soft breeze flitting through her auburn locks whispered sweet nothings in her ears. Rustling leaves and life enveloped her senses while she listened to the others as they commented on who would share a tent with who. The pull she’d felt since the beginning of the trip tapped lightly like a finger upon a taut, red cord.

Since when had it become red?

Shivering to nothing, Whitney busied herself with her own luggage and Mike’s struggling form concerning the tent. His dark forehead dotted with sweat gleamed in the waning evening light as she hauled her suitcase toward her boyfriend and set it down to aid his losing battle with the structure. It didn’t seem too difficult, but she wasn’t a man. Somehow, natural selection hadn’t programmed architecture into her biological book of things she should have known. Following directions to a “T” was another thing she failed at.

Giggling for the first time since they left, she shook her head at the man. “Do you need help?”

He glanced at her with irritation. “Maybe a little.”

They set to work hoisting and bending certain parts of the tent to conform to its intended shape. Of course, in the end, it looked vastly different than the instructions. Seeing as how the other tents were about the same, Whitney shrugged and figured it would still stand. Hoping against hope a storm wouldn’t come to undo their work, she began placing her things inside. Mike followed suit.

Large logs encircled a slightly blackened fire pit, the charred remains of logs past grey with ash. A haphazard grill littered with the remnants of charcoal stood on a thin metal pole a few feet from it. Whitney grew excited at the prospect of a bonfire and grilled food. They would need to gather the materials, though, for she hadn’t decided to hide hot dog buns or franks in her luggage. She figured the others hadn’t, either.

A few moments of aiding the others passed by. Soon, the band gazed upon their work with tired yet satisfied eyes. Whitney felt the urge to nap again but ignored it. The unease she felt immensely within the van had dissipated slightly, leaving an overwhelming sense of adventure in its wake. She’d forgotten she even processed such an attribute, the surprise leaving her wanting more.

However, the night soon fell upon them and so did her hopes for trekking around the area. She sighed, her change in mood concerning her slightly. At first, the tension in her gut posed unbearable. The tug upon her heart, the red string she’d just realized was there, pulled tighter with every step she placed upon the ground. A calling, heard but not heeded, sang to her through the trees while their leaves whispered to each other.

She’d not wanted to go on the trip at first. Necessity served to force her hand, but she’d felt the tug at the mention of their intended vacation stay and shied away. Something hung in the air like a cloud, representing everything she wished to break away from. Yet, pressure from every angle caused her to cave. There she was, standing on a piece of earth with her soul screaming as the crimson string gripped tighter.

Then, some of its pressure dissipated. Like a mist rising to the heavens, it rose from her heart a little and allowed her to breathe. Whitney could finally feel the excitement of her week long freedom stretching ahead of her. There were so many things she wanted to do and see. Setting foot upon the soil felt like coming home. The very thought, the very sensation, caused her stomach to knot with worry.

She’d never been to Washington in her life. Why, out of all places, did the trees feel more familiar than her own hometown? Their muttering formed words she swore she could understand, but it would take too long to decipher anything. The deep green blades of grass swaying even felt familiar, like reuniting with an old friend. Dew drops sparkled in the waning sun, frosting the tips in blue.

“Hey, Mike?” Whitney called to the man behind her. His brow gleamed with sweat again, even with the cool breeze flowing lightly through the trees.

“Yeah?” he asked, brows quirked. He’d been working diligently in getting his bag inside the tent.

“I think I’m going to go wash up and go to bed. Where’s the bathroom?”

Mike scratched his chin, leaving a smidge of dirt upon the dark stubble. “Let me ask Wade. I think it’s down the way there.”

He pointed toward a pathway leading into darkness. The camp seemed to be set in a circle, the tree lined trail he indicated a branch away from their area. Whitney shuddered at the shadows, but before she could speak, Mike had trotted away to Wade at the farthest end of their little area. He spoke to the other man, Wade adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. With a nod, Mike smiled and loped back toward her.

“Yeah, he said it’s down that path. Here,” Mike bent down by his luggage. Rustling around the front pocket of his book bag, he produced a small, black flashlight. “Take this. It’s kind of dark.”

Whitney nodded, turning to dig through her own luggage for sleep clothes, a towel, and her shampoo. She internally prayed for running water. It didn’t have to be warm, just running. For some reason, after riding twenty-nine hours in a van, she felt dingey. 

The gravel path leading toward the bathrooms stretched farther into the darkened woods. The buttery beam of her flashlight spilled upon the shadows and she watched as they cringed and retreated into themselves. Rocks crunched under her boots, the noise loud against the silence. Of course, the quiet held its own type of reverberations. Crickets sang the songs of their people and nocturnal animals scurried beneath the brush. Every click, every whisper of something echoed loudly amongst the quiet ambiance of the forest.

Pressing the plush towel against her chest, she listened to the resonances around her. The familiar tug pulled upon her core lightly. The ever-present inkling of knowing the undergrowth and vegetation to the very root hadn’t subsided since she set foot down the path. The density seemed to thicken the further she trekked; the shadows almost solidifying. This made her shiver and quicken her pace down the rocky trail.

The bathroom rested at least half a mile from their location. A horrid spot, if Whitney were being honest. She couldn’t imagine why she’d gone by herself, the sensation of doing something on her own or ridding herself of the calamity in her head two possible options. She needed some time to clear the feelings and confusing ideas whirling around in her brain. A walk in the chill mountain air could do some good. Still, the cliché aura of a horror movie caused her mouth to quirk. If that type of thing were to happen, she’d have been in the proper setting.

Finally, she approached the dark structure lit only by a small mercury vapor light and practically untouched for what seemed like years. It surprised her that even, after so long, there still seemed to be some sort of electricity. The gloomy walls were bathed in an artificial green light, setting the entire scene as eerie and reiterating the slasher film vibration. The ample noises around her hadn’t shifted, a sense of relief settling mildly in the pit of her stomach.

A cheap sign indicating it was, in fact, the bathroom hung lopsided in the center of the grimy brick wall of the building. Darkness writhed inside each doorway. Whitney hesitated, using the yellow beam of the flashlight to illuminate the inner walls over on the women’s side. Shadows shrunk away from the piercing light and she stepped forward with her belongings clutched like lifelines to her thundering heart, driven by the unaltered need to bathe.

Stepping upon the unkempt cement floor, she scanned the room for any signs of anything other than the dirt and debris sprinkled at her feet. Her shuffling echoed from the cracked walls, sending tiny pinpricks of fear spiking through her. A slight disgust formed at her sudden frazzled nerves, but she’d never been a fan of the gloom.

She didn’t fear the darkness itself, but rather, feared what lurked inside. She shied from the dreaded indefinite that never seemed fully understood. Since childhood, the night meant creatures who could snatch her up and devour her. Of course, Whitney had grown since then and the stories were only stories. Just like the one Wade wove in the van, rumors had built them just to scare those who felt the need to venture. Dark monsters under the bed or evil beings in the closet kept little kids under their covers and away from late night endeavors. It had done its duty for her when she was small and even onward as she reached adulthood.

Stalls lined the wall to her right. In the soft beam of her flashlight, she could see the pastel cream color they had once been. Due to age and neglect, rust sores formed darkly along the sides and doors. Most of those were swung open, ridding her of the feeling of something lurking behind in the darkness. Metal sinks lined the wall to her left, rust forming there as well. Her flashlight refracted its beam as she passed by the mirrors and viewed her own reflection.

She smiled a little at seeing the long, translucent shower curtains. A small, metal table nestled against the grimy wall as she turned toward the farthest shower stall. Placing her belongings upon the its surface, she set the flashlight next to them. Angling it where the shaft of light penetrated the shadows beyond the veil of vinyl, she lightly curled her fingers over the edge of the curtain. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she pulled quickly to reveal nothing but dirty tile and an old showerhead bathed in pale radiance. She released her bated breath, using her flashlight to turn the shower knob. It whined loudly, arguing against its sudden use.

Seconds seemed like eons before the clang of pipes echoed around the room. Moments later, water gushed from the head in glittering streams. Whitney’s elation buzzed, thankful for blessings in small packages. She let her fingers fan under the cascading torrent, palm facing the ceiling. The liquid pooled in the center, chilled like the biting air outside. However, her heart sang as the water began to warm. Her elation traveled throughout her entire system as she hurriedly discarded her clothes atop the metal table. 

Fishing her phone from her jeans pocket, she located the music application and found a song. Her previous fear subsided slightly at the prospect of hot water and cleanliness. Tapping the play button on the tiny screen, she grabbed her shampoo and stepped under the gushing liquid. Steam curled around her, her nostrils drinking the moist air in to bathe her lungs and core in its warmth.

Everything fell away instantly. Whitney no longer felt the pull upon her soul as it had been before. Her mind drifted to a place of tranquility, tucking itself inside her just enough to ease her worry. She sighed against it as if it were the plushest pillow she could lean upon and allowed herself to wallow its peace. 

The melody danced across the tile floor and she closed her eyes to it. It started slow, low notes bringing Whitney to a hum. The timbre reverberated through her, her diaphragm tightening to push the notes lingering in her belly out into the air. Soon, her voice carried the song smoothly and angelic. She felt it wrap around her, enveloping her with warmth rivaling that of the water slickly skittering across her skin. Soon, she began performing for her invisible audience. While she lathered shampoo into her messy auburn curls, she performed with gusto upon the nonexistent stage. The suds of her shampoo rolled down her spine, its flora scent wafted against her to cling to her dermis. She welcomed it, a far cry from smelling of sweat and chemicals.

Eventually, she finished her performance and her shower. Pulling the curtain back, she reached forward to the table to grip her towel. Cocooning herself in its plush, she stepped out from the stall and onto the tile floor. Cold shot through the soles of her feet, causing her to gasp stridently. A shiver ascended her spine like a snake, slowly coiling at the base of her sternum. She quickly dried the remaining bits of herself before donning her warm clothes and boots. She exited the bathroom, hair rolled up inside her slightly damp towel.

The tug returned, being all but forgotten in her jovial cleansing. The night felt vibrant with life, the noises of the various creatures surrounded her. The chill of the mountain air bit lightly at her slightly damp shoulders, veiled only by the thin long sleeve night shirt she’d thrown on. Gravel crunched under her boots once more, slicing through the discord.

A patch of grass lay to one side. Her flashlight illuminated the sparkling dew upon the stiff blades, casting the entire area with a tinge of blue. Whitney strolled silently to the patch, mesmerized by the twinkling moisture. She bent down to the carpet of green flanking the roots of tree, using one hand to lay upon the rough bark as she observed the vegetation.

In all her time living in Oklahoma, she’d never seen such beautiful flora. The grass twinkled like diamonds in the flashlight’s beam. It was a marvel to behold, something unseen by the normal eyes. She’ always loved nature and the beauty it provided. Among her comrades, it was considered odd. Yet, she didn’t think it that way. Instead, she only got to see what other failed to.

A vibration buzzed through her skin, reverberating just under the surface of the rough bark. The sudden sensation caused her chin to jerk upward from the ground and toward her splayed fingers. The cool surface of the trunk immediately warmed to her, the tremor tearing from the tree and outward like a radio signal. The sensation shoved her back onto her rear, breathless and wide-eyed. The leaves who had once been whispering, now sang loudly like the thrumming of her soul. The tug shoved itself down upon her with every ounce of pressure it could. It screamed for her, called her by name.

Something had occurred, and she was stupid to think it had not. Her fingertips felt numb, leaving the woman sitting perplexed on the ground. The beam of her flashlight fell buttery soft upon her sprawled legs, her things scattered upon the glittering grass. Time seemed to freeze, the forest ceasing its discordance of noises. The silence thickened until Whitney couldn’t take anymore. Swiftly, like the fangs of hell hounds were on her heels, she rose, gathered her things, and galloped off toward the others.

Warm orange glows derived from veiled tents cast illumination upon the shadowy grounds, and Whitney sped faster. The crunch of gravel fought back the urges to scream in her shock, grounding her. As she drew near, Whitney slowed her flight. Her lungs burned, muscles arguing with the exertion of energy. Her towel fell lopsided from the jolting trepidation of her venture. Once her boots met the circle of the campsite, the normal noises of the forest returned as if nothing had occurred. Halting, she turned to glance back toward the bathrooms. Another shiver sliced its way up her backbone.

She couldn’t shake the inkling in the back of her mind at what actually happened back there. It felt real, almost as if she’d stirred something within the tree. A tingle remained upon her palm, her eyes observing the skin as if it would produce some sort of mien from the event. Was it a sign of something? Had the vibrations ripping from the tree been in her head? It almost had felt like a signal or a message. Possibly, it had beacon for others to see and feel. This thought caused her throat to tighten in fear.

She was losing it.

If the event was real and Whitney had tripped something suddenly, who was to say the receiver of the message wasn’t malicious? Shaking her head, she rid her mind of the nasty thoughts and busied herself with preparing for bed. Mike had already claimed his sleeping bag next to hers, which he’d politely unrolled for her. The pale glow of their camping lantern cast his face in shadows, eyes closed in slumber. He’d left the zippered door open for her, which deemed a very nice gesture on his part.

She climbed inside the tent and set her things inside her suitcase. Unwinding her towel from her head, she placed it near her bag in a neatly folded pile. Shimmying into her sleeping bag, she welcomed the sudden warmth and snug enclosure. Her exhaustion from the events prior seemed to encompass her entirely, the sudden fatigue tugging at her.

Her eyelids grew heavy, but her mind did not. As she faded between consciousness and torpor, Whitney played through everything from the day. Weird, unexplainable things had occurred. She couldn’t answer the brimming questions inside her mind. Usually, logic would do that job. Even then, she found it falling short. Nothing could explain the sensation of familiarity seeping from the very ground she laid upon. The tug upon her heart, the very faint visage of a crimson string, seemed unwarranted. That didn’t stop its endeavor to cause her discomfort, however. It left her utterly lost, and She didn’t want to be that way. She hoped, by morning, everything would go back to normal.

Hope was all she had to rely on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again! The next chapter is much needed for the plot, but I promise from then on things are going to pick up. I promise!  
> Comment and leave kudos! It's much appreciated!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason visits a place that is greatly important to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very small chapter, but it originally belonged to another chapter. It got too long. So...here we are.   
> I hope you guys like this. The next chapter is coming soon so stay tuned.   
> This took forever to edit. I'm redoing everything as we speak.

“Those we love never truly leave us. There are things that death cannot touch.” ― Jack Thorne

Pushing through lowered limbs, Jason stepped upon the moist earth toward his destination. The chill of the early morning hung upon the dew ridden grass, tinging it blue in the sunlight. In the wake of his heavy boots, trails of his path grew dark. Water glistened upon the dark leather as he trudged forward.

The routine appointment marked the beginning of the week. After strategically checking his traps for any signs of game, Jason reserved the moments after on the first day of the week to trek to the other side of his forged territory. The hike took most of the morning, the location set deeper into the forest. He held no worry of bumping into the dark shadow he’d hid from the other day. His old friend all but disappeared for the winter months as the prospect of prey dissipated rapidly. It didn’t bother the man at all, but disturbing the thing was not a very welcomed endeavor.

Jason’s mind traveled to the questionable energy surge from the night before. It’d burst through like a shock wave, slicing down his spine and awakened him from an early nap, one much need after trekking though the valley for most of the day. He couldn’t deny how the electricity coursed in his veins, the feeling of a newfound presence walking among the trees leaving his brain in a befuddled mess. His body dripped with sweat. He’d been confused, having been roused in such violent way. The sudden flash of forest green eyes and an angelic voice left his body aching with something he didn’t understand. A longing, perhaps, to obtain knowledge. An urge to know what it all meant.

It hadn’t just affected him, though. The trees whispered of someone they once knew. They spoke of the beauty and grace behind this being, leaving Jason to wonder if it were human or animal. The creatures spoke of them, as well. He couldn’t care and didn’t bother to listen too closely. If anything, he was tired from his constant meandering.

But it was as if the forest had awakened to something he’d not sensed in so long. A sense of tranquility he’d only ever experienced when he was young. He couldn’t ignore such a thing. Someone seemed to have returned who had left long ago. Someone important to the forest and, ultimately, to him.

The tug he’d felt for the past few weeks pulled tighter as the energy flashed through him. A swooping sense of dread nagged slightly at the back of his mind. If he could sense the sudden vibrations that were new and promising, so could the evil entity that roamed the forest. He couldn’t deny the sudden spike of mild exhilaration he felt at the thought of, once again, becoming busy cleaning up its messes. Yet, this didn’t settle with that newborn feeling of anxiety pooling in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t felt it in forever, knowing not what it actually was.

He couldn’t deny, though, that the thought of the creature’s presence bothered him more now than it ever had. The new energy surging through the wood brought about the sense of change. An impending sense, one that had yet to come, but a change nonetheless. The evil tainting it seemed to sour like milk, leaving it as a nasty taste upon his tongue.

Shaking himself of his thoughts, Jason simply moved on. He’d never really cared when the creature ended the lives of others so drastically. He didn’t have the heart to feel such things. All he did was clean up the aftermath, eradicating the evidence so people wouldn’t become curious. The local townsfolk didn’t question the random pillars of smoke billowing from deep within the woods. They had learned quickly to never set foot within the trees to find out.

So, of all the incidences where he would feel something, why did the sensations choose to act now? A huff brought the thoughts to an abrupt halt. He couldn’t care. If the thing returned, as so he sensed, he would need to eradicate any bodies that lay in its wake. That was all he needed to do.

The warmth of the sun spread its fingers upon the sleeves of his jacket. It dipped into the worn holes, bathing his skin with the heat. It was welcomed, the icy bite of the night all but evaporating. Pushing through the last stand of trees, he stepped into a large clearing. Watery daylight split through the thick canopy above him, spilling upon the dew strewn grass and casting the entire ground in sparkling diamonds. A soft creek cut through the area, water trickling over worn stones. It, too, glinted in the rays as he stepped toward the simple wooden cross resting just on the other side.

He sighed. The flowers growing around the base of the cross had withered in the cold that still chose to cling to the forest. With the turning of the weather, the chill still bit deep within and never really shed until it seemed too hot. When the sun beat down with a radiance of a thousand fires, Jason knew it was a time when everything moved quicker and his flowers would stay alive.

It was a shame, he thought to himself. He wished them to endure the cold. His abilities were still very weak. Jason could grow them, and had done so since he was very little. Yet, for some reason, he had yet to master the art of giving them everlasting life. That was something nothing and no one could do.

He knew his mother had passed on whatever capabilities she used in her practices. The energy deemed functional and helpful. He’d felt the buzz under his skin just a one would feel the hair stand at their nape. Yet, he couldn’t use them during the light of day. His mother forbade it. They barely lived a peaceful life in the township. The locals knew of him, but knew not of his magical prowess and he didn’t plan on them to.

However, he practiced whenever he could. Late at night, when the fires of the street lamps faded, he would venture out into the woods to practice his archery _and_ hone his skills. The bow served as an excuse, an alibi, if he were being honest. A simple fib he told his mother if she ever caught him.

“Where are you going?” she would ask. “It’s late.”

He would hold up his bow and she would understand. Creatures roamed at night, and his keen skills were highly admirable. He was, of course, the best in the village. He was part of the reason their pantries remained fully stocked during the winter. At least, his mother’s pantry stayed that way. Selling meat was perhaps an admirable choice in revenue making even if the villagers were rude.

He got by with it, however, and his hunts served as the perfect façade for his true endeavors.

At first, the powers were small and simple. A flick of a finger and a blade of grass would grow. The slight twist of a wrist, and a bud would open. He learned to hone the skills, but they were not ease to access. The ability resided deep within him; he only needed to harness it to bring it to the surface.

As time went by, he gained more control over his energy. Many nights served as his study period, the trees witness to his failings and victories. Eventually, he was able to make entire plants erupt from the soil. Shortly after this, he began to discover his knack for healing. Organic material served as the best to test his skills. An injured bird or the broken wings of a butter fly were some of the various things he found himself fixing. His nearness to nature always served to aid him in toning his powers for the greater good.

One day, however, he’d found that he not only held the abilities to heal, but he discovered a heat in his bones he couldn’t identify. A quick flick of a wrist brought sparks down upon a tiny pile of dried leaves at his feet, a sudden flame erupting to life. It horrified him as he stamped the blaze down to a bed of dying embers.

He’d made fire.

Perhaps it was just a mistake and he’d accidentally caught the leaves on fire with something else. Yet, he couldn’t deny the burning buzz beneath his fingertips. The boiling under his sternum was _not_ something to ignore. He couldn’t use it. There was no other choice. But the allure of the energy towered over him with such grandeur; he realized the need to obtain what he could on the newfound ability.

So that, too, was added to his list of secret powers he practiced in the night. Eventually, he became stronger at controlling them, as well. He resisted all urges to fling them at the jeers of the people during the day, using the annoyance and hurt to spur his control and better himself at utilizing the forces inside him. 

He knew the darkness that came with the burning under his skin. He knew it to be evil, or as close to evil as it could get if used in the wrong manner. He vowed to never use it, tucking it away deep within him in order to rid himself of its very idea. Of course, it would always remain. It was a part of him, of course.

He could have used this power to burn those who’d murdered his mother. Yet, he didn’t. Something kept that power locked inside, perhaps it remained too buried to surface again. All he knew was the very fact that he’d forgotten how to use it and he hadn’t needed it at the time.

The wood still held things to mend, though. After his rebirth and years of wondering aimlessly, he’d not grown tired of lending a helping hand to a bird with a broken wing, or a moth who’d gotten too close to the stream side. As he glanced into his past, however, he realized he’d been so weak when he was younger. His abilities to heal and mend had been of no use to his mother’s headless corpse. He’d tried everything he could, but to no avail. He had been everything the village people had called him.

He was useless. Nothing. 

That was somewhat of the truth in the present. He’d grown tall, much taller than some men he’d been around in the town. His strength surpassed many of them, as well. Taut muscles bound like cords of hemp lay beneath pale skin and the super light hair dusting it. It had been wrought in sweat and blood and used for a purpose. He’d grown useful, not nothing, as far as he was concerned. Those who had deemed him as such were long dead, their words no longer reaching him.

Jason meandered through the dense undergrowth around the eastern edge of the lake. Upon checking his strategically placed traps there for any more signs of game, he realized he hadn’t eaten much the day before. He partially blamed it upon the newfound energy buzzing among the trees. The sudden introduction to the vibration left a new taste upon his tongue, one causing him to find nothing else appetizing.

Hunger was yet another issue he considered a weakness, serving as an unusual sensation in the pit of his stomach. Mostly, he ignored it. There were other things he needed to be doing. The pain would grow even more the longer he chose to disregard it, his fight usually ending with him consuming game he’d hunted prior.

He lifted his eyes to the canopy, feeling the buzzing causing the leaves to whisper incessantly. Under normal circumstances, he would have loved to hear them babbling among themselves. Yet, it’s all they spoke of. He’d grown tired of it after the sudden change. If anything, it made him want to sigh with exhaustion.

If he had a heart, or a working one, he wouldn’t have ignored how intense the pull had become. It felt similar to a string, tightly wound around whatever was left of the dead thing inside him. It dared to aggravate him enough to find the source and either scare them away, or do what he’d done in the past and snuff them out. The tug belonged elsewhere, though, and fathoms beyond his reach. If it belonged to beast or man, they were not even in the forest.

Then what explained the sudden burst of energy?

Shaking his head, yet again, he plodded over to the simple cross. He’d made it from twine he’d found and two branches. Cutting them with his machete, he’d placed them together to at least pay his respects to her memory. It was roughly done, but done, nonetheless. It was the thought that counted at the time. To show her spirit how much he truly cared and missed her.

Jason knelt, feeling the sudden sting of emotion splinter where his heart had been. He could remember her body lying limp against the pole they’d tied her to. The severed head lay just a bit from it, hair spilled upon the moist earth of the glen. Grass grew there now thanks to years Jason using his abilities to cast more life upon the place of her death.

Jason recalled his lack of comprehension at what he’d seen before him that day. She was dead. He’d seen the very blow that had done the deed. He felt hallow inside, a gaping hole of meat and bone brought back from the brink. He had nothing left but the emotions boiling inside of him to avenge her. It was then he’d wanted to use whatever powers he could to bring her back. Yet, he wasn’t strong enough. He knew it as he suddenly realized how alone he truly was. He’d tried so many times before giving up.

He was nothing more than a husk of the boy who’d buried her. Withering emotions hung like the green moss in the trees overhead, limply swinging in the breeze and at the mercy of whatever wind may come. He was strong, but he knew he wasn’t strong enough and never would be. Within him, he still held onto the pain. It had faded years ago, but its bite still lingered upon the very scars that riddled his interior.

 _I’m so sorry, mother._ He told the heavens and the cross before him. _I’m sorry I could not save you._

The locket he’d grabbed from his house during the pursuit that day had long since been lost. He wondered where it’d gone, but dared not dive into the waters of the lake to fetch it if it were down there. Various other locations could have been subject to his searches, but he chose not to. It was yet another reminder of his past, another splinter to lodge within his soul and infect.

Jason presently observed the simple wood cross leaning close to the small patch of mud he’d built it on. Reaching out a large hand, he righted the crooked thing before dropping his eyes to the flora at its base. The withering flowers limply fell against his outstretched fingers. The soil was not tepid enough for them. They would last the week, only to die upon his next stopover. With the warmer weather on the rise, raising flowers would be easier to perform than it had been.

He leaned toward the cross, letting his hand hover parallel to the earth. He pulled at the tingling power inside as it coiled in his belly, always there and willing to cooperate when he asked it to. Gripping onto its authority, he felt the prickle ascend through his veins to trickle from his fingertips into the dirt. Soon, tiny green sprouts began pushing through the darkened soil. Buds formed momentarily, erupting in various colors of orange and purple as soon as the blooms opened. It occurred in a mere minute.

She had loved lilies of any kind. His hand retreated, Jason observing his handy work. He recognized at least three different types of them surrounding the base of the cross. Their petals dripped with dew, vibrant as the sunlight itself. He hoped to have appealed her. It was a goal he always strived to achieve.

Jason stood, observing the buttery sunlight caressing the soft soil. The atmosphere buzzed around him with its newfound excitement. He felt it with every fiber of his being, the string wrapped around his heart pulling tighter. He listened intently at the whispers, unsure of the exact words being uttered. Inwardly, he shrugged and turned to go. His job was done there.

The air suddenly stilled. The whispers of the leaves ceased, leaving behind a thick silence. Jason’s head swiveled around, searching for a reason behind such a change. Nothing moved except for the steady beating of water upon the rocks in the babbling creek.

Then, warmth enveloped him. Unlike the heat of the sun, it was much deeper, creeping into his bones as if it knew him.

_Jason,_ something called to him. His head jerked around, feeling the air crackle with energy he didn’t understand. _Jason, let me speak with you._

His eyes dropped, the voice in his head seeming to be sourced from the cross itself. A twinge of something sliced through him. He knew the voice. He’d heard it in his dreams for so many years. It was the very voice that screamed at him to run prior to his untimely death. He would know it anywhere. It raised him, taught him the ways of the world. It healed him when he was sick, lifted him when he was down. It aided in accepting he wasn’t like normal children. It loved him.

It was the voice of his mother.

_Jason,_ the echo was sweet, just how he remembered her to be. It caressed him and he could almost feel her hands upon his deformed face. Jason knelt again slowly; body ridged for fear of losing the voice. It was faint, like the smallest of tremors beneath his feet. _Jason, you are special. You have been dealt a heavy blow by life itself. Yet, you are better than what you believe you are. You are greater than your enemy._

He didn’t understand what she meant. Comprehension of the words, let alone the fact that she was speaking to him, left him befuddled. He listened for her again, hearing nothing but the dead silence of wood. Not a thing moved or rustled. The forest itself seemed to be holding its breath.

_I know you are confused by your being here. Your purpose on this earth is not what you think_. His mother’s voice embraced him, bathing his insides with warmth. _But you already know this. You have always been smart._

He blinked at the cross, anxiety building within his breast. His breath hitched. He dared not move.

 _There is someone here for you, in this wood._ It spoke again. _You must find and protect this person. Then, and only then, will you be able to fulfill your purpose._

He wished he could speak. The words he would say to his mother, the apologies he would sprinkle upon her grave, and the reassurance he could use from her expressions. His mouth was nothing but a useless tool filled with dried ash. He wished to her what she meant, to further explain the riddles.

_I’ve always been proud of you, my dear Jason._ She told him. To his disappointment, the voice began to fade. _Remember who you are and know you’re better than the evil surrounding you. This person can help you. You just need to trust them._

Who was she speaking of? The person who he was to save? He’d never saved a single soul in his life. Why now?

 _That string you feel is not just a mere figment of your imagination._ It spoke again, the words dying. _It is real and it is true. Trust this feeling. It will never lead you astray._

With that, his mother was gone. He felt her warmth slowly recede, allowing the bitter chill of the morning air to seep back into his bones. He was hallowed, shivering slightly at the sudden change. It didn’t hold a candle to how he truly felt. He didn’t regard emotions as much of anything; he’d learned they never helped him to survive.

Yet, as he knelt there, he couldn’t help feeling the sense of loss rise once again. A sickening despair as clear as the rushing water of the creek crashed inside his interior. It threatened to break his fragile soul on the brink of rupturing already. If he could, he would roar. He’d inform the world of his sorrow if it would matter. But, he didn’t. He couldn’t. He was forced to walk alone, holding the weight of his past upon his shoulders like a shroud.

The words his mother had spoken caused various questions to arise in his own mind. In tandem with this, he felt the ever-present tug she’d spoken of tighten on his heart. Who was she speaking of? What string did she refer to? What about his real purpose? There were too many questions needing answers, and none he could provide.

Jason rid himself of the thoughts, eyeing the flowers he’d created before turning on his heel and stalking out of the clearing. His limbs shook uncontrollably; the sensations he’d so generously purged himself of were beginning to rise like bile within his throat. A sting of something at the corner of his eye caught him off guard, a large hand lifting to wipe at them. Fingertips gleamed moist in the sunlight as he rounded the edge of the lake.

Jason cried silently as he pushed onward toward his lodge. A reaction he’d sworn to himself to never fall to. It was something foreign, but not completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments and kudos! Thank you!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whitney stumbles upon a few important discoveries that will change her way of thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a part 2 of a set of 3 chapters I've written. The other will be posted soon.   
> I introduced the mask here and gave it a slight background. In the 2009 movie, I really didn't get much of a background and I am a backstory kinda person. Here you go   
> This series of chapters was way too long to post in one so I had to break it apart into three. I hope you guys don't mind.   
> Thanks for reading, you guys give me strength.   
> Any spelling and grammar issues are on me.

“There are no wrong turnings. Only paths we had not known we were meant to walk.”  
― **Guy Gavriel Kay,**[ **Tigana**](https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1907200)

_She found herself in silence again. The canopy swayed in the noiseless breeze, their whispers falling on her deaf ears. She pushed through the ferns and lowered limbs, the moss brushing against her skin. She wore her pajamas, her bare feet covering the cool earth._

_She was lured away from her camp, having realized how far by the unfamiliar trees. An unidentified path stretched before her, but she knew it._ Somehow, _she knew it. At this point, she wasn’t surprised by her unknown ability to recognize barely visible trails. Something lay beyond, something important, and she was closer to discovering it._

_For ages, she’d had the same dream. A lake. The forest. The man. They were all a part of a reoccurring loop full of mysteries she couldn’t solve. Something that belonged to her past she had so little information on. The last dream in the van had been too real. This one felt all too real as well. Yet, the noiseless woods still were not a part of her reality. Nothing could be so quiet. The haze fell around her like a thick, translucent fog. It always did._

_She happened upon a clearing, the same one as before. Sunshine streaked through the broken foliage above, swirling like disco lights upon the carpet of vibrant green grass. In the middle, stood a roughly constructed cross. She’d seen it before, as always. She’d never found who it belonged to._

_However, standing above it, was the man. His broad back faced her, bare head down and arms crossed in front out of respect. She watched the man for a moment, feeling her excitement well. This had to be the moment she would speak to him. The very time she would say hello and introduce herself to him like she’d wanted to since the dreams began._

Who are you? _She wanted to say._ Why are you so familiar?

 _She held secrets. Everyone did. This person before her held them, too, and she wished they would show themselves to her. They were someone she’d always known, or at least, she’d felt. Even before the trip they’d been there with their back to her and no face to be seen. Somehow, she was dying to meet them. To learn about them, and learn_ from _them._

_She stepped forth, but the world fell away and replaced itself with darkness. She was floating in the shadows of limbo. In the distance, she heard a voice. It thrummed like the purr of a cat, vibrating through her bones but she couldn’t understand exactly what was being said. Jumbled nonsense pulled her forward and a pair of red eyes bored into her soul. Evil. Malicious._

_Demonic._

_Her breath hitched. She knew the eyes, but not exactly what they belonged to. They were blazing hot, and full of rage. She couldn’t shake their immense hatred for everything, for her. Sadness lingered there as well, deep and sour like an infected wound that wouldn’t heal. It festered, seconds away from boiling over the brim._

_The entire scene felt different. She didn’t remember the eyes, or the darkness. She couldn’t recall the malicious intent or the growing need to vicariate and pillage. These feelings encompassed her, swarming within her mind like a plague of locusts. She screamed, but no sound escaped her lips. The noiseless abyss was never ending. A pit of black. The only thing alive seemed to be her._

It was the reason. _A voice echoed._ It was the reason evil was done.

_In that moment, she had no time to react. Something warm wrapped itself around her, dragging her backward. The heat flooded her bloodstream, sanctioning itself into the deepest parts of her soul. The sweet respite of security enveloped her like a warm hug, tears of relief stinging at the corner of her eyes. She was safe, as if the world couldn’t touch her. The eyes receded, a gurgled scream of anger released as soon as they vanished. She knew they wouldn’t fully disappear. Her gut told her that._

_Whitney fell back into the wood, the fog of her dream hanging among the silent rustle of the trees. Before her, a dark figure loomed. Shadows cast themselves over the hard planes of the body, giant arms remaining still. It was him._

_It was the man._

Who are you? _She asked, wild eyes staring into the space where his face would have been. Every inch of her trembled, heart beat erratic, but it was not from the chill mountain air that noiselessly swept through her thin pajama top._ Where am I?

You are home, Whitney. _A voice echoed around her. The man remained still and she felt his gaze penetrate her core._ This place is the answer to everything. Find him. Save him. Eradicate the evil. 

_Then, she was rushed back into reality._

****

She imagined herself waking with a start after another wicked dream. But, Whitney woke to the caressing rays of morning sunshine warming the tent, instead. It heated it comfortably, pushing Whitney to snuggle deeper within her sleeping bag. Mike snored to her right, his snuffling vibrating through the small space. As she adjusted her eyes to the brightness, Whitney rose quietly to unzip the tent flap and exit.

She slowly rose to stand, every muscle in her frame screaming. At first, she was unsure of the reasoning behind the aches. It felt as if she’d been running a track for hours, her head groggy and clouded. The air fluttered the unruly mess of hair now air dried from the nights rest. She felt the wild tendrils shift upon her upper arms. The chill of the mountain morning had yet to drop, the day just beginning. She figured the time to be around nine or ten. Blaming her stiff limbs on the cold she was not accustomed seemed the logical route to take.

But then, she recalled the sudden surge of energy from the night before. She hadn’t believed any of it, the entire thing was too outlandish to contemplate. Even being as tired as she had been, she’d never known something as alien as the sensation she’d felt vibrating through the forest. There were many times in prior events she’d felt confused and slightly scared, but none held a match to last night.

Then, there had been the dream. Another mystery she found difficult to figure out. The reality of it struck her dumb with shock. What kept it from becoming so real was the fact there had been no sound. The noiseless breeze through the trees gave her every indication of a dream and nothing short of insane.

What exactly was the surge of energy? Where had it come from? What caused it to occur? Why the dream? What did it all mean? Many questions swirled around her head, but none she could actually respond to herself. It only left her frustrated and even more fearful than she had been before.

Glancing down upon her fingers, she remembered the tingle she’d felt there after touching the tree. The energy flare was not present prior to her coming in contact with the bark. As a matter of fact, she’d not touched a single thing before any of it occurred. Was it random, or was it something she had done? Nothing happened prior to her sudden amazement with the flora, yet it occurred once she’d made direct contact.

Her torso felt the warmth that remained, as well. The two, burly arms wrapped around her middle while she flailed in her dream still felt as if they were gripping her tight. She’d found serenity in them, much to her surprise. Security was the last thing she’d expected to feel from being drug backwards into darkness. She touched the spot where the arms had been and felt the heat rush through her.

Whitney shook her head, attempting to rid herself of the millions of questions and doubts barraging her brain. The morning was crisp, a refreshing scent of pine and other flora causing her lungs to ache as she drank in the atmosphere. She was unused to the thinned air and elevation. Being born and raised in the flat lands of Oklahoma, the only mountains there were ones down toward Texas. Those were nothing but high hills rolling with dark trees. They were much older than those that stood sentinel among the pines and alders of Washington, but the air was bearable there.

Yet, Whitney was resilient. The confusing occurrence from the night before still caused questions to trip and fumble inside her mind, but the cool air shifted under her t-shirt and those thoughts fell away slightly. The crisp breeze thrilled her blood, sending her childish hear to patter with an urge for adventure. The unease drifted toward the rear of her consciousness and she inhaled the beauty around her. The sweet scents allowed her to forget, the caressing aura not unlike a mom soothing a confused child. She wanted to see the splendors the world around her held and explore until her heart felt sated. Her disquiet be damned.

Near the end of a silent agreement with herself, she decided a stroll around the area would do her some good. The wood, however weird, still seemed to bring a sense of calm over her. Even though the events of the night before left her baffled, the mountain air felt somewhat intimate. She’d known the place before, but was left uncertain as to how.

A good hike around would help ease her uncertainty. Whitney was ever the one to strategize when faced with a troubling situation. The focus would ease her confusion, allowing her to organize her thoughts. She could scout the area, gather her surroundings, and understand just where they were. All while admiring the grace and scenery the area had to offer.

Wade mentioned the nameless lake as the partial scene of his stories drastic murder. Whitney could feel tension grip her heart, but remembered how far in the past it had been. Sure, it was traumatic. But those who suffered were long gone and the area offered more to her than a dramatic homicide location.

Stooping low to gather her toiletries, she rid herself of the negative thoughts before it tainted her growing positivity. Mike lay sprawled in his corner of the tent as she unzipped it quietly to grab her things. His mouth hung wide, a snore rattling the canvas surrounding them. She quirked a smile before acquiring a shirt and jeans along with her toothbrush and toothpaste. 

She exited the tent, attempting to zip it back as noiselessly as possible. Turning toward her destination, she sighed.

Whitney admired the area but she hadn’t forgotten how far they were from civilization. Given they were at least ten or more miles from town, she understood they were very isolated. The highway lay a good hike from the campsite and upward through a stand of trees. For some, this distance presented itself as a blessing. To her, she could see it as a hazard. Despite the beauty and the vibrant flora, she couldn’t deny she felt a tiny pinprick of malice within the dark. In the portion the light dared not touch. It wasn’t solely because of her experience. A shadowy history mingled like vines through the underbrush and gloom.

She trudged toward bathrooms. The sunshine spilled buttery upon a path she hadn’t noticed the night before. Gravel lay embedded from years of use within the soil. Weeds and grass shot up through, the lack of passersby allowing Mother Nature to reclaim what was rightfully hers. Whitney missed it last night, knowing that in her haste she’d not focused too much on anything else. 

Speeding along, she felt the warmth of the sunshine flow across her unadorned arms. Whitney shivered, internally reprimanding herself for not grabbing a jacket. The born and bred Oklahoman in her was not accustomed to the early chill in May. Usually, she’d be adorned in athletic shorts and a tank top when the humidity hit over 50%. In the mountains, she couldn’t feel the sweltering mugginess of the air. It was clear and crisp as a bottle of water.

A breeze fluttering through the canopy caused the leaves to whisper above her, their language unknown. No matter how in depth she thought, Whitney’s unforeseen occurrence from the night before shouldn’t have been something drastic. If she were quiet honest, she barely believed it happened at all. The only evidence resided in the tingle under her skin left there by the bark of the tree she’d touched with her fingertips. The lack of sleep and fatigue seemed to step forward as the main contributors to her alleged incident. If spoken about out loud, it would render laughs and jeers.

She kept quiet. 

She couldn’t lie and tell herself the wood didn’t somehow feel different, though. The sensation was slight, just a blip on her screen, but it was there. Everything went on as it normally would, or at least as she figured it would. Yet, the slight buzz causing tremors against her skin was nothing she could ignore.

Finally, she arrived at the bathroom. Thankfulness rushed over her like a wave at seeing illumination within the confines of the brick building. The tanned stones constructing the structure were thick and cracked, once slathered paint flaking and falling to the ground. She slowly stepped forward, peering around the edge of the women’s side before fully entering. Even though her experience from before hadn’t been eventful, she still didn’t trust the structure to be fully vacant. A creature could have ventured inside to hide from the cold.

Scattered leaves littered the cement floor, obviously undisturbed from her presence the night before. The plastic curtains of the pastel cream shower stall still held drops of water, untouched by the outside elements. Whitney wrinkled her nose, the sight of mildew clinging to the tiles causing her skin to crawl a bit. She thanked her stars she’d cleansed herself as best she could before she saw the grime within the white walls.

A shower was a shower, she reminded herself. And it was a hot shower at that.

Depositing her things upon the metal shelf under the mirror, Whitney studied her unkempt appearance in the clouded mirror. Her hair fell in tangles upon her shoulders, a shimmer in the auburn mane compliments of the shower she’d taken. Dark circles clung to the underside of each eye; cheeks slightly sunken. She would need more than a nights rest to recuperate, she figured. Yet, she couldn’t quell the sudden curiosity at the thought of being so exhausted. Why did she feel so tired?

She regretted not grabbing a brush, combing through her wild tresses with her fingers in vain before giving up. With a sigh, she let her hands drop to her toothbrush. Squirting a decent amount of toothpaste upon it, she set to work ridding her mouth of the nasty slime coating her mouth and causing morning breath. After a minute of vigorous brushing, she rinsed her mouth with the clear water and glanced at a fresher appearing face in the mirror.

After having done her duty, she exited the bathrooms and briskly closed the distance between her and camp. Once there, she noticed the others had finally decided to wake. Wade fumbled around with what seemed like an old hockey mask. Whitney didn’t recall seeing it before, but it was Wade. There was no telling where he’d acquired it from. Richie chattered widely about the object but not loud enough to understand.

Stalking toward her tent, Mike greeted her with a smile as he exited it. She granted him one in return as she entered. She rifled through her suitcase, grabbing a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt before slipping out of her sleep clothes. A pair of comfortable tennis shoes kept her feet warm but pain free. Donning her day wear, she stooped again to exit the tent.

“What’s up, Whit?” Richie exclaimed from his position by the firepit. Wade still held the mask, its surface worn with age and streaked with flaking red paint. A chill raced up her spine as Whitney gave them a plastic smile before turning toward the path she’d just ventured from.

“Nothing, really.” She replied. Inclining her head toward the mask, she quirked a brow. “What have you two got there?” 

“It’s one of my old Halloween costumes.” Wade chimed, smiling.

“Really?” Whitney quirked an eyebrow. “Why did you bring it?”

Wade shrugged. “I guess to scare you guys in the middle of the night.”

“With that thing?” Richie exclaimed. “You wont scare me with that. It didn’t scare me in the movie, so why would it scare me now?”

“Where’s it from, anyway?” Whitney asked, hand on her hip.

“Well, it’s from perhaps the most amazing slasher film in history.” Wade explained, messing with the dark leather straps. “Where have you been, Whitney. Under a rock?” 

Whitney narrowed her eyes, a slight sting slicing through her at the comment. Wade didn’t know her history, and if he did, he wouldn’t understand it fully. She couldn’t hold it against him.

“Horror really isn’t my scene.” She stated, lifting her chin.

“Well, it’s one of the most amazing movies ever made.” Richie nodded, recalling the film. “It’s so well done!” 

“Do you mean the movie,” Whitney replied. “Or the ladies they used to star in it?”

Richie feigned shock. “My lady, you wound me. I am no heathen.”

“Uh-huh, that’s not what you said last night.” Amanda snorted, sashaying from her tent to the men. Mike trotted up to join them soon after, leaving Whitney’s eyes narrowed.

“Where have you been?” She asked as he sidled up next to her.

“Amanda needed help with her tent. It fell this morning.” His face remained passive, and Whitney felt warmth in her breast. He was a good man by nature and helped others when needed. Of course, he would aid someone who couldn’t raise a tent or keep one there. She could barely do such a thing herself, and she doubted Amanda even knew how.

“Wade, what the hell, man?” Mike scoffed at his mask wielding compadre, who’d happened to have slipped it on again.

“Flee, you fools!” Wade roared, rising to his feet with youthful grace and voice muffled by the thick plastic. “Run for your lives.”

Amanda released a plastic scream, flying from the men in haste. The chase was on. Whitney chortled as the masked man scurried after Amanda, Richie trailing him in annoyance. Mike sighed beside her, glancing down until she stopped chuckling.

“You okay, Whit?” He asked.

She nodded. “Yeah, just getting used to this place and being away from home.”

“It takes a while,” He stated, eyes lifting toward the others. “You’ll have fun. Don’t worry.”

She hoped he was correct. She wanted to understand the wood and learn to accept that it was, in fact, different. She blamed most of her reactions so far to her exhaustion and homesickness. Yet, she couldn’t help but feel the enchantment of something new spread before her. The allure of the vibrant greens and the mountains drew her in like a moth to a flame.

Whitney’s thoughts fell to her mother in Oklahoma. She couldn’t help but miss her. The cell phone she’d left in her tent read “no service”, and she couldn’t feel farther from her home. Leaving it there seemed the best idea, but it still didn’t rid her of the slight pang through her soul as she thought upon her house and what she’d left behind.

She missed their morning talks and the stories her mother would weave at night before Whitney went to bed. Whitney was an adult, but she never turned down a story told with American Sign Language. It carved her focus, sharpening her skills in understanding body language and expression.

She watched the others, eyes following their silly scampering. With a sigh, she turned and grabbed her purple backpack. Rifling through it, she placed the things she didn’t need near the fire pit. She’d put them away later. Leaving a water bottle, sunscreen, and other items alone, she shouldered the bag. Mike regarded her, questions in his eyes. She flashed him a brief smile.

“I’m going to take a walk. See the sights.” She explained.

“Do you want company?” He asked, eyes twinkling.

Whitney contemplated the question, but finally shook her head. “No, I think I’m good. Thank you though.”

“Just be careful, Whit.” His deep eyes shone bright in the sunlight, regard for her safety written within them.

She nodded. “Of course, I won’t be long. I promise.”

She couldn’t promise she wouldn’t run into anything in the wood. After the incident from the night before, she still couldn’t shake how it’d differed slightly. Among the illumination, warmth wreathed the leaves there, but shadows writhed along the roots and undergrowth. If she wanted to see what lay beyond their camp, she needed to be careful. She promised to return in due time, but she hadn’t promised her indefinite safety.

Yet, she couldn’t disregard her sense of adventure. There were dangers possible in the woods and she knew it. But, her slight disregard for the possibility of threats shocked her a bit and then it didn’t. She wanted to see what lay inside, but knew the risks of encountering malicious wildlife. She wasn’t sure what resided among the gloom set deep between the trunks of the trees. She didn’t want to find out. What she did desire was to discover what she could of their little area and elsewhere if possible. She would take the risks and deal with them as they came.

She cinched her bag snug upon her shoulders, throwing another wave before turning and heading down the path by the bathrooms. She figured she’d start there, knowing the layout from her venture the night before and that morning. Of course, she needed to plan where to go after reaching the bathrooms. She thanked her past self for agreeing to wear the sneakers, rocks beneath the soles having the possibility to cause issues if she hadn’t.

A chill breeze flitted through her loose curls. The sunshine spilled golden upon the loose gravel and earth beneath her feet. The trees whispered, leaves dancing to an invisible tune. If Whitney tried hard enough, she could almost hear their jovial beat. Drinking in the cool mountain air, she couldn’t help the smile flipping upon her face.

She regretted thinking the trip to be uneventful. She’d cursed it, felt the pain of leaving home, and hated the fact that she didn’t think she’d enjoy herself. Yet, as she kept trekking down the path and held her ears to the cheery life around her, she couldn’t help but tell herself it was going to be alright. If anything, she was right where she needed to be. Her mother would fare without her and Nancy would do her job just as she had many times before. If anything, Whitney figured she’d find something about herself deep within the trees. Something that would help her cope with the days ahead.

Still, the ebbing pull of the string she’d grown so used to felt more intense than it had been in Oklahoma. She’d not forgotten about it. It sang like that of a harp string in which Whitney could not ignore. She’d tried to rid herself of its tension by drowning out all it attempted to do. It didn’t help. The power behind it deemed far too great. So, as she had always done in the past, she began to just accept it. Even if she refused to do such a thing, it wouldn’t help. It would still be there, clutching her heart as if it belonged there.

She trudged forward, soon passing the bathrooms. The shadows had deepened once again, giving the impression of writhing demons attempting to lure her inside. She shuddered, keeping her pace steady and stalking directly past the doors. She reached the edge of the small clearing, gazing past the borderline. Her eyes caught the traces of a small path leading away and down to her left. Glancing over her shoulder, she adjusted the straps of her bag and made to head down.

A sharp tug upon her heart caused Whitney to still, her foot hovering just above the path. Her eyes darted around her, attempting to analyze the sudden sensation. It grew, climbing up her spine and into her sternum. The grasp tightened enough to concern her, but she shook herself of its grip. It fell away quickly, leaving just the mild sensation behind. Pushing even that portion down, she pushed onward.

The trail hadn’t been traveled in years, it seemed. Various roots grew in tandem with wild vines along the path. Whitney did her best as not to trip, but it proved very difficult as the vegetation grew thicker. Whitney located a very long, fallen branch upon the ground. With a few grunts that weren’t exactly ladylike, she broke off the excess limbs and dubbed the bare wood her new walking stick before moving on. It proved to be convenient, handling any potential falls she could have suffered if she hadn’t acquired it.

After a half-hour down the rugged trail, Whitney broke into sunlight. The ground seemed softer beneath her feet as she shielded her eyes from the penetrating rays. Once her eyes adjusted, she let the arm used to shield her fall to her side. Blinking a few times, Whitney drank in the moist air.

Before her stretched the largest lake she’d ever envisioned. Its surface lay tranquil, glinting like glass in the mid-morning sun. Beyond its placid face, Whitney noticed how vibrant the water seemed to be. Its depths radiated pure turquoise, murky just underneath the motionless exterior. While Whitney felt captivated by its grandeur and peaceful ambiance, the sound surrounding her died away. 

Her thoughts whirred. She’d seen this lake before. She wasn’t sure where, but she knew it. A part screamed of dreams filled with the glassy body of water. The sensation of cold liquid engulfing her sent her to wince. She’d felt such fear while Wade wove his story, but she couldn’t rid herself of the icy chill lancing through her skin like tiny spears.

Various colorful birds fluttered from overhanging branches, bringing Whitney back to reality. The reflective waters mirrored the bright azure sky above. Bending down, she lightly pressed the pads of her fingertips to the wet soil, watching as the liquid welled up from its saturated surface. She didn’t dare tread any further, feeling she’d go under if she tried.

Oklahoma had its own share of scenic landscapes. Rolling hills beyond hills of grass as green as emeralds in the spring flowed like waves as the wind flew through the parried. Vast pastures of native grasses as old as the mountains themselves stretched far as the eye could see, and then some. There were lakes and streams sourced from the Rockies, but muddy and dark like the earth composing its silt below. And beyond that, an abundance of life and culture far greater than she knew.

She didn’t doubt the old mountains of Oklahoma had once been grand. Yet, she couldn’t help but fall in love with the stoic pillars surrounding her, though. Their snow capped peaks glinted in the sunshine overhead. Hills chocked full of pines and spruce trees rose on either sides of her, encompassing her in its embrace.

The familiar sensation struck her once again and she jolted. She knew the area, and then she didn’t. She felt the annoying bite of confusion with anxiety right on its heels. She had to keep going.

Shaking her head, she glanced around her surroundings again. The lake seemed to stretch on the other side. A rounded bank extended far past her sight, possibly going further than she preferred to walk. Still, she couldn’t quell the curiosity tickling the back of her mind. She’d started the trek and she chose to end it. There was far more to see than what lay before her. And somehow, she _knew_ that as well.

Deciding to give in further to her inquisitiveness, she plodded down the lake shore toward the opposite side. Squelching drowned the twittering of birds as she pushed through some of the mud. It grew even more dense as she maneuvered through it, the slop caking her shoes.

In a matter of moments, she happened upon a very large piece of drift wood blocking any access to the other side. It stood taller than she, nasty and drying limbs gnarled from age rearing into the sky. The entire length must have been that of a fallen tree, the roots blocking any means of going around it. Whitney scratched her head, attempting to derive a plan to scale the immense obstacle.

Adjusting the pack upon her shoulders, she turned on her heel and began trekking the opposite direction. Sure, a flatter and more even ground would have worked more in her favor. Yet, she needed to get to the other side. She’d have to jump, and gaining ground would benefit her better. Bracing herself, Whitney filled her lungs with the chill, mountain air. She felt the effects of the thinner atmosphere, her chest heaving to gain purchase in the higher elevation. She’d not had problems until now, knowing her dead run would cause her even more.

Inwardly, she shrugged. So be it. Outwardly, she braced herself. The pack felt secure upon her back, the straps cutting into the skin of her shoulders. She gulped another mouthful of air, and in a heartbeat, she pushed through the muck with her legs and launch up the rotted tree. The old bark of the trunk snagged her clothes, her arms blindly attempting to acquire purchase. When her fingers closed around a gangly limb, she climbed.

Her shoes smacked the mud upon the other side as she landed. She released the breath she’d held, only to gasp for more as the sudden event caught up to her finally. Not twenty breaths later, she straightened her spine to observe the new section of lake shore. It wasn’t much different than the one she’d left, ferns dotting the area leading into the forest.

She made a move toward the bank, but something seemed to catch her eye. A glint sparked through the muck just a little way down in the darkest portion of the mud. The crystal water lapped at the object, chipping away bit by bit of what obscured its gleaming surface.

Trudging through more of the slop, she peered down at the sparkling trinket. It was no smaller than a piece of jewelry as she bent down to retrieve it. Digging around the edge, she discovered that it was, in fact, a locket. No chain strung itself through to the eyehole located toward one end, the clasp long since rusted shut. With time and care, she believed it would open up again.

The metal felt cool against her fingertips. But, she couldn’t deny the sudden warmth flushing through her as it robbed her of her breath. A rush of emotions crashed through her instantly, her core screaming about things she didn’t fully understand. Images of a life that was not hers flashed before her. The trinket within her grasp felt important, a piece of a puzzle she needed to comprehend.

_Keep it safe._ A voice demanded of her. Oddly familiar and she recalled the dream, once again. She tightened her grip upon the locket. What did it matter if the thing was kept safe? Yet, Whitney didn’t seem to want to throw the thing away. So, she stuffed it into her pocket. Its warmth still burned against her thigh as she lifted her chin to her current situation. 

Glancing upward toward the tree line, she scaled the small hill leading into the darkened cover of the canopy. Ducking past nasty limbs threatening to slice her exposed arms, she pressed some out of the way to move forward. The now familiar tug clamped upon her heart once again, all but dragging her toward something located just within walking distance of the lake.

So, she followed the tug. Listening intently for anything out of place, she continued her trek toward wherever the string led. In the rear of her mind, her consciousness screamed for her to halt. It wanted so badly for her to turn back toward the lake and head to camp. Another part, the section following the familiar tug’s lead, beckoned her like a moth to a flame. It sang to her to keep going. Something resided within the wood that needed to be seen. It needed to be respected and she needed to be there to pay those respects.

The foliage on either side of Whitney grew thick. Vines meandered up and around large trunks of trees, the canopy fanning heavily above. Slices of buttery sunlight split through dense leaves, spilling upon the sticks and dried litter at her feet. A worn path that appeared to have been traveled upon various times before, cut through the compacted undergrowth and she followed it senselessly. The various noises and chirps of creatures scurrying on the ground didn’t distract her from her mission.

Even if Whitney found whatever she pursued, following only a hunch and a tug upon her heart, what would she gain from it? Besides the overwhelming need to see it, she didn’t understand why the pull led her down the path. If she glanced at herself, asked the question of what she knew she would only claim to understand nothing. The directions she tracked were embedded deep within her, splintered into her core like it had been whittled there from birth. She only needed to tap into her inquisitive nature in order for it to awaken.

As she walked, the silence grew around her. For some reason, she wanted to fill it with something. To add to the plethora of noises, she felt the urge to sing. It was truly an idiotic sensation, one she would never have indulged before. The peace of the wood fell heavily upon her, not unlike a blanket at all. The fuzzy feeling of trudging through a fairy tale, and it only logical to belt out in song.

So she did. Or, she attempted to. The elevation left her starving for air, and full lyrics would not do. Eventually, a periodic hum sated her as she trekked through the countless ferns and tree trunks. The song carried through the wood, ringing from within her soul and out into the open. Every time she used her voice to express herself, she felt the vulnerability as it exposed the innermost parts of her. In the wood, she felt somewhat secure. No one could see her, or hear her. She felt safe. Or, as safe as she could be.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, she broke into a massive clearing. She panted, the trudging taxing her flat-lander lungs in the thinner air. Not ten breaths later, she allowed her eyes to absorb her surroundings. The place before her seemed to be her destination.

The peaceful glade sat quaintly surrounded completely by tree lined walls. Dark shadows writhed beyond her eye line, indicating the density of the forest further on. A bubbling creek cut through the glittering grass, sparking in the full sunshine. Worn rocks caused the crystal water to crash, dowsing the clearing in constant noise. Algae hugged the bank in a film of green and yellow, the torrent barely dislodging it from the sides of the stream. Above, ancient trunks of trees arched into the clearing, long tendrils of moss handing like hair from the rotting wood. Stray limbs stretched like fingers toward the azure sky.

Whitney felt an instant rush of Déjà vu, the dream ramming her as if she’d been exposed to a flood. It was serene, sacred, and Whitney felt the instant sensation of interloping. An emotion she’d not felt in the dream before, but knew she should have.

Adjusting the straps of her bag, her eyes fell upon a singular object resting just on the other side of the creek. Rays of the golden sun caressed its rough surface. She stepped forward; fully aware with every one the intensity of her interference. With a quirky leap, she scaled the wide creek to the others side. Tiny avalanches of moist soil fell into the bubbling waters of the creek, quickly being carried away and through a part in the wall of trees.

Flowers hugged the base of the object she’d spied, leaves ruffling in the chill breeze. Dew sparked like diamonds upon the silken surface of their petals. There were vibrant pinks and effervescent oranges, something she wouldn’t place among the mountains. They were the most beautiful lilies Whitney had ever seen, her favorite kind of flower if she were being honest. The flora calmly brushed against the wood of the object and Whitney felt her breath hitch.

It was a cross.

Whitney halted, feeling her blood freeze.

It was the cross from her dream.

It was roughly made. Two large sticks tied perpendicular to each other, a burlap type of twine binding them. The precision behind the technique appalled the onlooker. She’d never seen such workmanship. Clearly, the craftsman took pride in their work or the cross meant something of great importance to them. Whitney did not consider herself a guessing person, but if she did, she’d choose both options. The latter quite possibly being the logical decision.

Her mind reeled. The scene around her felt too familiar, the all too fresh dream she’d had that morning still raw and real in her head. She recalled the cross, the glen, and the scenic view surrounding her. All that was missing…

She eyed the woods, delving into the shadows in search of the tall figure she’d dreamt of. But, all that enclosed her was silence and the babbling creek. The serenity fell heavily, peace filling her from within and dousing any sense of unease. It wasn’t as if the tall, dark figure of her dreams would strike fear within her. She hadn’t felt that.

Carefully, as not to disturb the grave site, Whitney knelt. It seemed the right thing to do, the respectful thing for an interloper like herself. The earth worn over time rose slightly to indicate where the owner of the grave to be buried. Time had taken kindly to the sacred space, blades of grass in abundance spreading vast and vibrant on either side. Whitney’s breath slowed as she knelt, her ears listening to the life around her.

All sound seemed to fade, silence following quickly. Her heart hammered within her chest, threatening to burst forth. The string she’d grown so used to snapped taut, causing a sharp jolt to rush down her spine. For some reason she didn’t understand, she was meant to be there.

Somehow, she knew the person buried beneath her. Sadness hung within the air, clinging to the girl’s skin. A dark history, a tragic past as gloomy as the writhing shadows of the wood occurred in the glen. Yet, she’d acknowledged that. As a child recognized what up and down meant, she knew the person who lay beneath her knees and, somehow, they knew her.

Whitney couldn’t recall the name. She knew she shouldn’t, but an itch in the back of her mind told her she had known it. After years of being absent, the title slipped from her mind. At least, that was what she felt. Still, it didn’t matter. It didn’t deny the fact that her dreams had been slightly true. At least where the cross was concerned.

Whitney didn’t understand why she’d dreamt of something like this. She’d had them forever, the constant routine becoming a part of her. She’d questioned it at first, wondering the reason behind such dreams. Yet, after what seemed like the 100th time, she’d accepted it as she’d done to many things before. Quickly, so as to move on with her life.

Something about seeing a part of her dreams right before her with splinters and sunshine knocked the surreal sensation off like rust on an old sign. It struck her that, maybe, there were hidden truths within her dreams that she had yet to discover. That everything she’d seen in her subconscious state was real.

It scared her.

She couldn’t deny the sensations surrounding her, either. The feeling of familiarity so thick, she imagined slicing it like butter. The knowing, the recognition, and the string thrumming tight within her breast did little to quell her confusion. Was this a ruse, or was it something much deeper.

One thing she did know, however, was the very solid sense that the person buried under the cross had deserved more than what they were given. They had sacrificed so much for the sake of the people, knowing full well their kind would turn on them. In the end, all they could attempt to do was save the one thing they could. Their child. Yet, even then, the child hadn’t made it. Or did they?

Had Wade’s stories been true, as well?

A great influx of desolation flooded the girl. The sting of the pain threatened to weaken her, tears welling in her eyes. They fell hotly down her cheeks while her fingers brushed the wood of the cross. She wished she knew the person’s name. She longed to know them fully, and not just by memory. She clutched the section of shirt over her heart, the organ clenching in agony. Brushing her cheeks of the tears as best she could, Whitney sniffed.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathed, attempting to keep her resolve. Her hand clenched the wood tightly. “I am so sorry for what happened to you. You didn’t deserve this.” 

The air stilled, a sense of peace resting upon every living thing. It clung to her skin, bathing her insides with serenity. An unspoken message quelled her restless heart, informing her that it was going to be okay. She could cry, but the debt had been paid long ago. A far greater purpose seemed to be placed within her lap. _Help. Heal. Love._

Whitney felt the beginnings of song. Its history fell far beyond her comprehension, a part of a former life that was not entirely hers. The tune wriggled through her core, and the melody began forming. Her voice ached to meet it, knowing full well it wasn’t her intention to belt out anything. There remained no one to be seen, though, and Whitney couldn’t fight the pressure building in her diaphragm. The steady pressing to claim the floating descant, to capture the moment in song, and pay the respects her core demanded she reimburse. It seemed the right thing to do.

So, she sang. She caroled about rest and relaxation after a long journey, of dreams, and a call upon a distant shore. She sang of brothers in battle, the wind sighing, and snowflakes falling upon it all like a blanket. A road stretched onward, over hills, over trees, and unknown lands.

She sang of the sorrows seen, the shadows coursing through the deep memories one chose to never recall again. She also sang of the people who were worth traveling with and the good recollections one chose to hold forever. She sang of home and what it was worth, a blazing fire within the hearth.

She wasn’t sure what any of it meant, yet she couldn’t help closing her eyes to the melody as it sprang forth from the very depths of her soul. Its unknown denotation cascaded through her veins, her brain trying desperately to comprehend it. Flashes of a history she didn’t belong to, but had, flickered behind her eyelids. The earlier declaration of recognition concerning who lay beneath the ground seemed to be true. 

The world seemed to hum; the energy she’d felt the night before vibrant as the flowers at the base of the cross. Things whispered, spoke of her voice and its powers. She doubted them all, even the fact that she could hear them speak. Still, she listened to the sound of her own beating heart and the rush of air into her lungs as she continued to sing. The calm she’d felt earlier washed over her as the sun’s rays caressed her skin. Motherly, soothing, peaceful.

Her melody cut itself short just as something snapped behind her. She jerked, feeling the ever present sensation of eyes upon her nape. However, the feeling fell away as her heart buzzed. Her string screamed. Something was near. Was it possibly a friend, or a foe? Was it perhaps an animal? She hoped for it.

Whitney chose to remain kneeling despite the build of anxiety. Something pressed upon her shoulder, an invisible hand grounding her from rising too quickly. The sensation tickled the blood in her veins, causing her entire frame to vibrate.

_Do not panic. Look around you, child. Find him._ A voice whispered. Whitney didn’t dare open her eyes to find the source. _Help him. Heal him. Love him._

Was it a mission? Who did the voice speak of?

The entire ordeal was insane. She held no clue of what the voice spoke of, let alone the capacity to accept she heard the voice speak in the first place. Her stress and fatigue were to blame for her sudden hallucinations. That was it. There was no mission and there wasn’t an intended target to aid.

It was all just a figment of her imagination.

The serene sensation fell as suddenly as her song. Her eyes shot open, senselessly gazing around for the source of the voice. She knew it so well, yet she didn’t. It’d been right there, inside her consciousness as her own voice had been. It’d spoken to her as one would speak to a relative. There had been no begging, only the steady insinuation to aid. She wasn’t obligated to do as they suggested, but if she didn’t take it…

She stroked the metal of the locket within her pocket. It felt hot beneath her fingertips, intensifying as she continued to rub it. For some reason, its importance waved at the forefront of her mind. Its significance would soon come to light, but for the time being, she was none the wiser to its value.

She released the jewelry from her grasp, and stood slowly. She shook herself of the entire scene, leaning down to grip her bag and shoulder it. The normal sounds of the wood returned, echoing across the clearing. The babbling brook chuckled across the worn stones, grounding her. She’d just imagined it, she thought. There had been no proof of a disembodied voice granting her with a mission as if it were some RPG video game. She was tired and stressed. She’d only imagined it.

Or had she?

Glancing at flowers swaying in the cool breeze, Whitney eyes widened as they rested upon something she hadn’t noticed before. She backed away, eyeing what didn’t seem to be right. The earth at her feet gave way to another imprint much larger than hers. Horrifyingly larger. As panic rose, she noticed the hollows were none other than a set of prints. Had she detected them before, she would have fled. 

They were enormous, much larger than any of the men back at camp. The rounded indentation of the toe suggested boots, but they clearly were much different than she’d ever seen. How recent had they been made? She didn’t want to know, but felt she needed to. Turning from the cross, she twisted to observe the surrounding trees. Nothing stirred but the limbs as they swayed with the cool breeze. Yet, the ever-sudden sensation of being watched pressed uncomfortably from all angles. Sweat beaded her brow, her heart thundering.

Another twig snapped somewhere inside the forest. Eyes wild in fear, Whitney whirled around in an attempt to focus where she believe the sound to have erupted from. It had derived directly behind her, she figured. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she blinked. To her horror, a figure sheathed in shadows stood as solid as the darkness itself. It remained immobile, yet she could _feel_ eyes penetrate the gloom. Stiffening, she whirled on her heel and ran toward the creek. With a grunt, she leapt over the brook. Sparing one last glance over her shoulder, she exited the glen with the tug upon her core wailing at her to stay.

No matter how much distance she placed behind her and the cross, she still couldn’t shake the sensation of eyes upon her neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are my food source!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason sees someone he never thought he would, but his curiosity gets him in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters in a row! Quarantine got me writing my butt off and editing chapters like crazy. This is the third part of the series involving the same subject. It was just too long to post into one chapter.   
> This will be it for a while until I get other chapters edited. With the way I'm going, it'll be a miracle if I get anything redone in a timely manner.   
> So, here were are.

“But he who dares not grasp the thorn  
Should never crave the rose.”  
― **Anne Bronte**  
  


At first, it was so soft, he hadn’t heard it. His noiseless footfalls were not what made his brain question having heard it at all. Vibrations of energy and life rattle through the trunks quite loudly, much louder than normal. However, the reason of his pause had vanished all together. As soon as he thought he could hear it clearly, it faded. Narrowing his eyes, he shook his head and made to continue his wandering.

Then, it reached him again. He stopped cold, ears fixed upon whatever he thought he’d heard. The chattering of birds faded as he focused himself, the whispering leaves all but distant background noise.

It was there, not too far from him. It was moving, the crunch of twigs loudly echoing against the trunks of the trees. His breathing faded, a mechanism he used to gather more information on his prey. It was not an animal, the footfalls much sloppier than any creature he’d encountered before. He leaned forward, attempting to determine what exactly it was. 

The steady hum fell rhythmically like a song, its cadence faltering slightly. His chin jerked to where he believed the source to be. Despite the bumps, the melody was soft, like the brush of a flower petal upon his skin. It caught him unawares, the velvety noise alluring. The tug upon his soul seemed to yank harder even as every muscle and fiber of his body fought to remain stationary.

He couldn’t deny, though, how intrigued he was. What creature could sound so appealing? The tingle within his core, the string that pulled even firmer than before, seemed to be dragging him forward. The surreal murmur of song sounded so angelic, he almost figured himself dreaming again.

Ever since he’d felt the jerk, it never grew in intensity. It’d always been somewhat of an annoying enigma, a fly buzzing in his ear. He’s swatted at it a few times, but it seemed to always revert right back to obstructing his daily routine. After so long, he’d grown used to its pressure. The way it seemed to throb painfully or stretch taut on occasion. He’d also noticed certain things that didn’t belong to him. Various emotions and physical sensations he’d never known whirled around his brain. This perplexed him, causing a stirring of anger to form. He wished to be left alone, to not feel something that didn’t fit to him.

Eventually, he grew accustomed to those as well. 

The night before, he’d felt it. It built up as it normally did and pressed upon him like a steady weight upon his chest. There had been a difference, only slightly, that he’d noticed. The heaviness seemed solid, less translucent than before. A voice in the back of him mind whispered the source to be close, but he paid it no heed. Knowing full well it was not to be trusted.

Of course, he should have listened to it. The night the forest burst to life thanks to an unknown source, the tug screamed. It pulled with the force of the draft horses pulling a plow. Yanking painfully upon his soul as one would yank a bandage off a wound. The phantom pain sliced through him, causing him to swear with what words he’d heard from his mother, and double over. Confusion and shock crashed in waves, his own emotions matching them in stride.

Jason had accepted the sudden pressure, hoping it would go away. It had for a moment, allowing him to do work he needed in the lodge. Yet, its intensity from before remained almost like a mark upon him and still stung like a whip lash. His tolerance for such things seemed to grow as well, the unfamiliar twinge becoming but a simple nagging at the back of his mind.

The source of the noise grew stronger; his large form hurriedly taking cover down into the shadows of a curtain of moss. Their loud footfalls echoed from the undergrowth, snapping twigs in their wake. He bristled, knowing with every step, the interloper committed a sin much deeper than they realized.

Of course, he’d set his boundaries long ago. They were self-proclaimed, but they were his. Campers were rare, but if they happened upon the site, they stayed clear of the deep woods. They were much smarter in earlier days. But, having heard the sudden intruder’s entrance, he understood the people now to be much duller than they used to be.

Many other times he would have strode forward to pursue the intruder. Lord knew he needed to break the rust from his joints. The machete normally sang for its release, as well. Yet, this time, it remained silent. With an narrowed and confused glance downward, he shook his head at the oddity. Never had the machete remained noiseless when faced with an trespasser.

Suddenly, the trees erupted in vibration. An ecstatic energy flashed its way through the branches above, sending the wood into a fluster of whispers. Jason’s head whipped around to listen, his body stiffening. The leaves spoke of something approaching, something deriving from the land beyond. This something, or someone, entering the forest was unlike the scourge of those who came before. Jason blinked at the buzzing within, attempting to listen to the leaves as they whispered of who it might be.

They were heading toward the glen. His mother’s glen.

Despite how quiet his interior seemed to be, he couldn’t help the anger that immediately rose like a beast within his throat. His fists balled at his sides, confusion mingling with the rage to concoct a messy pool of who knew what. Yet, he felt the hum of life flowing through the trees as the stranger pressed forward. With every breath he took, they grew closer to his revered ground.

Quietly, he pursued. Keeping to the shadows, he listened intently on the interloper’s path. Moss brushed against the shoulders of his coat. If his heart had been there, he knew he would have been deafened by its thundering. He kept on, however, following the crack of twigs and brushing of leaves.

The hum reached him again, his breath hitching. The angelic velvet caressed him, lulling him from his original mission in a matter of seconds. He halted, drinking in the pure mountain air before pursuing again. The closer he drew to the source of the noise, the foggier his mind became. For the entirety of his advance, he couldn’t ignore the ever-present pull. It strung tightly between him and whatever proceeded forward to his mother’s resting place. They dared to disturb his only piece of tranquil space in the sorry excuse of his life.

He could see the clearing ahead. The tug pulled him closer as he quietly barreled over fallen limbs and trunks of trees with his hushed steps. Bile rose in his throat as he grew closer, the string heaving painfully until he could see just into the glen. The sun gleamed brightly onto the emerald blades of grass, spilling golden upon something else entirely. He didn’t realize the hum had ceased until his eyes caught the glint of rushing creek water and something else entirely.

His breath stilled. All anger he’d felt faded, replaced by a stillness he could only describe as bafflement. His arms hung limply at his sides, fingers spread to the open air. A scent caught his keen nostrils like a rabbit in a snare. He knew the aroma as if it were burned into his cognizance. The warm, enticing smell of mint and the flora he couldn’t recognize surrounded him, bathing him in its heat. He blinked against the blinding light, but its illumination was not wholly from the sun itself.

His world seemed to twist and falter right then.

Auburn hair sparked in the sunlight, fanning down a shapely spine only slightly covered by pack sack strapped over shoulders. It had faded over time, the color now pale in the light. He’d seen the tint before, exhibited in deeper shades throughout the various flora of the forest. He’d even grown flowers with the same shade for his mother; unsure of the name they’d been given. The hue was different, a vast contrast to the vibrant colors of the trees and grass or the tones of the earth at his feet.

The intruder was just a lope away, not too far from his previous exit and closer to him than he felt comfortable with. The mountain breeze fluttered the curls, wafting the scent through the air. The stranger had their back to him, but he knew in an instant they were unlike anything he’d ever witnessed.

They were different. _She_ was different. 

She stood tall, much taller than any woman he’d seen before, but still much smaller than his overpowering frame. If anything, she’d come to just below his collar bone if she stood to her full height. With her gaze trained solely upon his mother’s cross, she bent down to kneel before it, the pack falling to the earth beside her. His flowers swayed in the same waft that carried her scent across the glade, reminding him he’d not been there too long ago. He could see her head bent to them, fingers reaching out to brush a petal. It was such a small, infinitesimal move, but a pressure at the base of his sternum began to grip just as tight as the string pulled taut. A new feeling, he realized. A very new, very confusing feeling.

Her skin glowed under the caresses of the daylight. The shirt she wore only exposed her pale arms, a pair of roughly spun pants hugging curves he’d never noticed on a female before. Her long legs folded perfectly under her as she knelt, the soles of her shoes caked with mud from the lake shore. She placed a hand upon the cross and he felt his breath hitch.

Something thumped deep within him. At first, he paid it no heed, focus entirely upon the intruder he’d been so angry with before. Yet, as he gazed upon the auburn waves sparked with hints of fiery red, he found himself recalling any memory he could for reasons he didn’t know. Somehow, he only grasped at the sudden realization of her familiarity. Of how he’d seen her before.

Perhaps in a dream.

He lowered his eyes just as the thump struck again. It thrust even more intense the second time, creaking in his rib cage. His stomach knotted, his breath all but panting. His brain panicked as he clutched the section of shirt above his sternum. A pain elevated through him, a heat he hadn’t felt in years beginning to singe his skin.

Then, a melody arose. Like a siren song it flowed through the air, shifting with the breeze to envelope him. Words fell from her lips, the promise of hope and love, feelings of giddiness and laughter ringing like bells within his ears. Images of dancing and merrymaking whirled around his head like a spinning top, causing a dizziness to arise. Every single feeling he had known before and had shunned seemed to bubble forth, allowing him to forget how he’d let the darkness consume him.

His gaze lifted to the girl as he listened keenly to the tune. He couldn’t recall it, unsure if the shock kept its recognition from him or he didn’t actually know it. The warmth of the voice seemed to pour inside him, fill him to the brim with its peace and splash upon the sides of his broken husk like a healing remedy his mother had made.

As she sang, the forest fell into her rhythm as if it were perfectly normal. The trees hummed, casting the entire area in peace. From the cover of his trees, he witnessed the entire forest balancing with her melody. He’d seen quiet and peace, but since his almost death, he’d never witnessed the entire area becoming one.

His chest pounded uncomfortably once again, sending a shock down his spine like a snare wire. His entire body shook, embers of fire sparking within to ignite and blaze to life. He felt throbbing in his temple, his jaw clenching against the newfound sensation. Clawing lightly over the spot above his sternum, he felt an odd sensation beneath the skin and bone. Something he’d lost once life had been granted back to him. Something he missed all together.

It was the all too familiar thump of a heartbeat.

Jason mind blanked. His feet felt suddenly heavy, tremors causing his legs to shake. He became aware of his possibly languorous nature, which was uncouth for him. He didn’t recall a time when he’d lost control prior to his rebirth. If he had, the time had been wiped because he chose to forget. It had been the time he thought to be his calling. 

Amidst his internal tussle, something snapped. The simple sound echoed loudly against the bark of the trees, rattling the rustling leaves above the glade. He’d been struggling too much, lost too deep within his mind to notice he’d managed to step upon something on the ground. He wasn’t one to make noise within the wood, his body trained to sneak. Yet, as his eyes fell to his feet, his newly beating heart jerked sharply at the sight of the twig he’d managed to break.

The melody halted, cut clean by his sudden folly. He froze; eyes elevating to see the girl had quit singing. Her body became static and the aura of nervousness fell upon them both. He could feel her anxiety upon the air as it wafted between the two. She could feel him, or a part of him, from where she knelt. Yet, she remained knelt near the cross. A slight breeze stirred the tendrils of hair upon her shoulders.

Then, it was gone like a whisper.

Her head turned hurriedly in all directions, failing to glance behind where he stood. A hand nestled within the pouch of her trousers, clasping something precious inside. He narrowed his eyes at the action, leaning forward slightly. Slowly, she rose to her feet as graceful as a deer gliding through the bush. Shouldering her pack, her head dropped to the ground at her feet. She stared at the spot before her, just below the cross. With his own eyes, and to his horror, he noticed imprints of his boots hollowing the moist earth.

Another snap. Another folly he’d made. She turned and Jason ceased breathing all together.

Forest green eyes wildly darted across the glade, searching the shadows for any sign of who had made the noise. He knew them, but felt unsure of where he could have possibly spotted something so vibrant. Freckles dusted her flushed cheeks, trailing across the bridge of her nose, and spattered a little upon her forehead. Her porcelain skin _glowed_ in the sunlight caressing her face, wisps of her hair brushing the soft pink of her lips.

He’d never beheld anything quite like her. She was ethereal, unreal, and angelic. The wood morphed itself to catch a glimpse of her splendor, in utter shock at the very thought of it. His acute senses caught every rise and fall of her chest and with every breath, she respired pure glory. She was a vision if he’d ever witnessed one. If beauty meant anything to him, it meant her. Yet, he swore he’d seen her before. In truth, it was as if they had been dug from memories deep within him, reminding him of a past that seemed long ago yet not too distant. Her scent molded upon his skin and he suddenly remembered exactly what flora held the similarities.

Lavender.

Those forest greens locked onto him suddenly, the world stilling again for just a moment. They bore into his soul, rendering him senseless. He dared not move for fear of alerting her to him. Yet, he believed it wouldn’t help. Perhaps, she already knew he was there. But he felt her sudden alertness, wishing he could dive deeper into the shadows.

Like a spooked creature, she whirled on her heel and fled from the cross. Her hair flew behind her in a soft wisp of auburn, catching the rays of the sun like a rain of fire and earth. Her movements were fluid as she flew, leaping over the stream as agile as a doe. She continued to the other side once she lit upon the ground. To his surprise, his heart clenched as she reached the tree line. With a singular glance over her shoulder, she slipped quickly into the cover of the trees, leaving everything-including him-basking in her afterglow.

He stood there blankly starring at the space she’d vacated, newly beating heart thundering against his sternum. He couldn’t fathom the situation, his mind having yet to grasp upon its reality. Her scent dissipated, the trees groaning sorrowfully. He could feel her presence leave, fading into the air as mist would in the sunlight.

Had a woman really been right before him? Had she been an angel just within reach? He could feel what was left of her warmth radiating through the glade, her wake she’d so carelessly left. He knew her face, recognized it after so many years, but the acknowledgment fell short just at the tip of his tongue. It hung before him, taunting him with unknown emotions. If only he’s stretched his arm toward her to brush his grimy fingertips against it. Then, he thought, he would know who she was.

If he’s succeeded in acquiring her beauty, what would the result become? Would he find her and bring her back to his lair? What kind of animal would do such a thing? He would only ask for heartbreak upon the newly pumping organ. He couldn’t afford that. If anything, he would only instill the fear of God within the girl at the sight of him. She couldn’t look past the horrible disfigured monstrosity he had become. A hulking figure, born of shadows and pain, hoping for a slice of retribution and a new purpose in life.

Jason growled. Disdain coiled within his gut, pooling with toxic thoughts of his own self-hatred. She was nothing more than a dream. A figment of his imagination stirred only by his immense loneliness and desire for companionship. Her form was but an apparition within his head, her perfection stewed from the dreams he’d had of someone similar. He couldn’t help the way he looked but witnessing her surreal splendor only made him want to hide from it. 

He had no right to dream, or witness, someone like her. He was nothing more than a massive beast untamed and void of any compassion. He’d lost it long ago, when the final beatings of his heart faded with his last breath. Sure, he walked among the living again, but it was nothing more than a ruse. He was not anything more than a plaything for something much larger than himself. That being, he figured, found it awfully fun to dangle something he couldn’t touch before his very eyes.

How cruel they must have been.

Jason clenched a fist, the intense rage boiling in his veins mingling with the new heat from his thundering heart. He hadn’t noticed the thing die down in its intensity, but his blood ran as hot as a bonfire. With it, a newfound anger he hadn’t possessed since his rebirth. Anger so deep, it writhed and flourished within his fiery soul, searing the image of her and his monstrous self upon the deepest confines of his soul. If he did such a thing, he would rid himself of the urge to pursue it, thus allowing it to crumble into ash at his feet.

That, he remembered, was the only thing he could do. It deemed the only means to remain stoic after witnessing such an event. His only coping mechanism was to hate, to become hated, and to let the loathing flow through him as a river flowed. Then, and only then, would he regain his resolve and move on with his mundane life.

Even as he attempted to do this, he found his mind lingering upon her scent and the sparkle of her eyes. Images of long lashes swooping down to brush rosy flesh and feminine cheek bones sculpted from marble filled his head. Auburn hair with glints of copper flowing in the breeze and indulged him. His stomach rolled, the anger rising even more. He hated himself for creating such a ruse. That hate spurred him to forget. He hoped he never saw her again, in his subconscious or otherwise. She wasn’t real. She was only a figment of his imagination.

Yet, how could something from a dream cause his heart to beat again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your support. Kudos and comments welcome!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whitney gets to speak with her mom and an unlikely character gives Whitney something to think about.  
> Last portion of the chapter has been redone!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!  
> Sorry it's been so long! COVID's kicking my butt. And wedding planning. That's kicking it, too.  
> This chapter gives us some insight on a character that's going to have a big impact later. You will love him.  
> Also, I am not very well versed in Native American lore so I did my best and came up with some stuff on my own. Dont attack me.  
> Anyway, thank you all for your love and comments and for being patient with me.  
> Working on a new Hobbit/ OC Character fanfic I think ppl will love. But, it wont see AO3 for a while.  
> Enjoy because the next chapters after this will be packed with action.  
> Hope you're ready!

“One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.”  
― **Virginia Woolf,**[ **A Room of One's Own**](https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1315615)

Whitney’s return trip to the camp rushed by in a blur of green, her mind reeling from the events that occurred in clearing. She closed her eyes as she trekked quickly through the trees, remembering the brush of lily petals upon her fingertips and ankles. It was odd to see fresh flowers when the cold’s bite still had not faded.

She couldn’t forget the footprints. The horribly large ones she’d never seen before.

There were so many things she’d felt within that glade, but none seemed to trump the void left behind. She’d felt the string pull as tight as it’d ever been, roaring at her to stay. Yet, like a spooked deer, she bounded away at the first sign of something that wasn’t normal. Her fear engulfed her, her mind going blank until she’d exited the clearing.

Emotions frothed over her brim of sanity, gripping at her sternum for dear life. She was drowning in her own confusion and other sensations that didn’t belong to her. Sadness, despair, and loneliness were but a few while hatred and rage burned at her feet. Those she didn’t recall being the source of, but they flowed through her all the same. She felt the sting of tears in her eyes, dried streams crusting upon her stained cheeks.

Doing her best to wipe them from her face, she slowed her pace. The bathrooms loomed ahead, a familiar marker amongst the chaos of what lay behind. She relished in it as she passed, a sense of relief flooding her limbs, adding a spring to her quickened pace. What once had been something she’s been weary of was now something of a sanctuary. A simple landmark signifying security.

Ahead, she saw her comrades gathered around the empty fire pit. Mike sat next to Amanda, surprisingly close. Whitney shook her mind of the invasive thoughts, disregarding the negativity welling up like a bad taste in her mouth. She blamed the darkness of her mind from her experience in the glade,

Stepping slowly into camp, she made her way toward her tent. Wades mask covered faced followed the return of his camp mate through the darkened eye holes. She shoved down the shudder threatening to snake up her spine, busying herself with unpacking her backpack. She needed to get her mind away from the clearing and questions whirling within her brain. If she didn’t, she was afraid her sanity would fade away with what dwindling emotions she’d failed to cling to.

Mike trotted up to her with a smile as she set her pack down upon the floor of their tent. “How was the walk?”

She paused, fingers hovering over the zipper of their tent flap. “Uneventful.”

Mike narrowed his eyes. “That bad?”

Whitney turned to him and nodded, hoping he would stop asking. “Yes. That bad.”

Her answer seemed to do what it needed to, his face hardened with suspicion. However, he didn’t ask anything further. He didn’t dare press her for anything else but he didn’t move away either. Setting her pack down upon the ground, she fished out a granola bar she’d stowed in the front packet. The thought of eating something to calm her nerves sounded pleasing. 

“Hey, I was going to take the van to the town we went through earlier.” Mike stated, scratching his head. “Would you like to come? Wade and Richie ate all of the hot dogs. They wanted more for a bonfire tonight.”

Whitney straightened. She hadn’t thought of the others and their plans. As a matter of fact, she’d been so lost in her own thoughts to regard anything else. But the idea of going elsewhere, somewhere away from the camp, sounded more appetizing. Images of a giant bonfire, hot dogs roasting on stretched hanger wires, and marshmallows flooded her with relief and a sense of excitement she’s lost back in the glen. She felt her worries wash away at the thought of enjoying herself. Her mind’s issues faded along with the rendition of her experiences surrounding the cross.

Had she really been through all of it? Was it all just a figment of her overly stressed imagination? They all seemed plausible and not entirely crazy. Yet, she hadn’t slept well the night before and odd things had occurred. If she were honest, she didn’t trust her own eyes at the moment. Her brain grew tired from fighting herself and the thought of relief seemed eons away. She needed release. She needed something to help her forget.

Mike’s trip into town seemed to be just the ticket she desired.

Whitney gave him a wide smile. “Yeah, that sounds good. When are we going?”

He shrugged. “Whenever. Soon would be best, though. I’m pretty sure the store stays open until its sunset, which isn’t long. ”

Whitney nodded. That made sense. She didn’t figure many would stay open after dark. Small towns were notorious for shutting shop earlier than others. Glancing toward the sky, she noticed the small span of distance between the horizon and the giant ball of light. Night would fall upon them swiftly if they didn’t hurry.

“I’ll go with you.” She told Mike. “Let’s get back before dark, though.”

Mike nodded, turning to trot to the others. He spoke a masked Wade, who handed him the keys from his jeans pocket. She bent to grip her bag again, slinging it over her shoulders. She winced, the tender skin of her shoulders smarting from the last time she’d done so. Wincing, she watched as Mike sauntered to the parked van. She followed him, jingling keys sparking as they dangled from his loose fingers. Like a gentleman, he unlocked her door before stepping over to the driver’s side. She chuckled softly, admiring his chivalry.

“It’s not dead, my lady.” He chortled, and unspoken messaged passing between the two. The soft thud of the van door he closed fell dully upon the empty cab. She followed suit, placing her bag on the floorboard.

“On some, it might be.” She replied, glancing toward Wade whose lewd gestures toward Amanda and Richie indicated her statement’s focus. He galloped around manically, mask dully glinting in the sunlight, before Mike started the engine and backed up out of the parking spot. The faint crunch of gravel and motion of the vehicle reminded her of reality. She’d been so lost in her own thoughts, her own nightmarish tendencies to comprehend her situation, that reality seemed to have left her earlier. She realized, however, that life surrounded her as vibrant and fiery as her own heart most days. She wasn’t the girl she’d been in the glade, scared like a trapped deer. She needed to accept that even if it had happened, she wasn’t scared. If anything, it had nothing to do with her. Dreams be damned.

She was stronger than her fear. She was tougher than her situation. So, she did what she always did. She accepted it as something that merely had been a figment of her fatigued imagination.

“So, is the campsite pretty or what?” Mike asked as they drove down the drive toward the paved highway. “I haven’t seen the lake yet, but I hear it’s gorgeous.”

Whitney nodded. “Yeah, I saw it. It’s very blue. Almost a teal color.”

“Wow,” He stated, van jostled by a bump in the dirt drive. “I’ve never seen something like that. They are usually so dirty you can’t even see the bottom. ”

Whitney smiled. “Yeah, it took my breath away. It’s so still, too. I’ve never seen something so calm.”

“Usually there is some sort of disturbance on the surface.” Mike replied. “I’ll have to go see it. I don’t believe you.”

Whitney giggled. “Believe what you want, Mike. I’m not lying.”

“Of course, you aren’t. You’re horrible at it sometimes.” He stated. Then, his tone turned serious. “What happened in the wood, Whit? You’re not fooling me.”

Her face fell. She knew he wouldn’t buy her story from earlier. She had to try, though. The images and sensations still crashed inside her, leaving a tender fear filled lesion upon her heart. She shied away from the prospect of ever going there again, fathoming the impact the place had on her. It had left her bare, open to whatever influences would come. She was vulnerable in the glade, her emotions skyrocketing to the heavens and threatening to never level out.

What had actually happened there? What had she heard and seen? She questioned ever experiencing anything. The part of her brain that usually accepted things that transpired refused to function. Perhaps, she thought, it was still in shock. Most logical parts of her brain remained there as she attempted to comprehend what happened.

What could Whitney even say to Mike about the glen? Somehow, discussing it felt like betrayal. Whatever force had demanded her to fulfill a mission entrusted her with the secret. Revealing to anyone else would mark her as a turncoat, and that thought caused her heart to clench in pain. Sorrow filled the void, the red string she’d grown accustomed to tugging horridly upon the straining organ.

So, Whitney replied her boyfriend with the best answer she could muster. “I really don’t know. I can’t really describe it, but I don’t want to do it again.”

Mike narrowed his eyes to the road, another bump jostling the passengers. “Why don’t you know?”

She glanced out of her passenger window at the rushing greenery. She knew exactly why she couldn’t answer him. She couldn’t explain what occurred in the glen. It would betray whatever force lay there and leave her feeling worse than she already did. However, she felt the immense pressure build at not being able to share something so large with another. It burned inside, raging to be released.

“I just don’t.” She stated with a sigh. “Have you ever experienced something you couldn’t explain?”

Mike remained silent for a moment as the scenery flew past them. The trees and hidden drives were still there, long shadows from the evening sun growing upon the asphalt highway. Whitney felt her anxiety build with every second he remained quiet, knowing her mind to be on the brink of losing it. Or, at least, that was how she felt.

“Yeah,” He finally uttered stoically. “I once thought I saw a UFO and no one believed me. It was right over my house and nobody but me saw it. Mom and dad thought I was crazy.”

Whitney glanced at him, a small slice of anger at his mischief shooting daggers through her gaze. She read his eyes as the twinkled with playful intent, his aura flooding the van with lighthearted vibrations. She sighed, knowing she couldn’t be mad at the softness of his face and smile he so horribly attempted to hide. Her glare transformed into one of acceptance. Then, she laughed. It derived directly from her heart, spilling from her and into the open. Soon, he joined in.

They both cackled until their sides ached and tears streamed down their cheeks. She needed it. Lord, Whitney needed it. After a while, though, they quieted down. The windows of the van whistled with the mountain wind outside as it passed through the trees. Whitney’s worries slowly chipped away again, but she knew they wouldn’t disappear fully. They remained, a small sliver toward the back of her mind. She noticed the tug fading, its grip slacked slightly with distance. Somehow, it left a horrid taste on her tongue. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t quell the urge to return to the lake.

“Are Wade’s stories true, Mike?” Whitney broke the comfortable silence that’d arrived after their jovial moment.

“If you believe in that sort of thing, then...yeah.” Mike shrugged. “As for the facts…I don’t rightly know. There are a few things that might be true, though.”

Whitney leaned forward, focus fully on Mike. “What things?”

He gazed forward with resolve. “I mean, there used to be a township. It was a long, long time ago but I can’t remember a date.”

“Really?”

He nodded vigorously. “Oh, yeah. I actually looked it up before we got here. Wanted to see some of the history behind the place. There seems to be some interesting stuff that went on back then.”

“What kind of stuff?” Whitney prodded. She couldn’t help the curiosity nipping at her heels.

Mike bit his lip in thought. “Well, there was a witch trial sort of thing that went on. No one really knew who the woman was, but they did document it.”

She pondered for a moment. There had to be documents of life before the area became inhabited. If there were texts, maybe there was some sort of explanation behind the cross. Could the glen have been an old cemetery, used long ago to bury the township’s dead? It couldn’t have. She would have recognized other pieces of it. Old graveyards still held onto some of their inhabitants. Whether it be old headstones or other parts, she would have noted such a thing. Plus, the cross had been wooden and most cemeteries, no matter how old, used stones for an ancient burial ground. Wood was not used.

That also indicated the cross to be slightly newer. There hadn’t been any signs of moss or lichen, which meant the cross to be built sometime earlier. Or, it had been replaced. Either way would explain why there was not a sign of natural wear and tear. The thought alone of someone residing in the wood willing enough to replace a simple cross informed her of the grave-sites importance. Who, if there was anyone, would have been keen on doing this?

“I don’t know,” Whitney stated, glancing once again out her window. “Something tells me there’s way more to it than what we think.”

“Why are you so curious about this?” Mike asked, grip tightening upon the wheel.

Whitney dared not reveal what she’d stumbled upon, an unseen force stilling her tongue. Eventually, she just shrugged. “I don’t know, really. I just am, I guess.”

“Well,” Mike relaxed. “All I know is what I read.” 

Whitney scoffed. “I’m impressed.”

He looked sharply toward her, the twinkle returning in his eyes. “Really?”

She smiled. “Yeah. You can read. I always thought you couldn’t.”

****

Cougar, Washington seemed to be a sleepy, small town. The van purred onto a rough highway, dubbed Lewis River Road. A simple, two lane thoroughfare, Lewis Road stretched farther down past where they wished to stop. Tall, tree covered mountains circled the tiny settlement, giving off the sense of security Whitney had felt when she first set foot upon the campground. Before the events of earlier took place, of course.

As they drove from their small driveway and onto the main road, Whitney glanced at the various people steering by or parked in the few parking lots she could see. Cougar wasn’t as large as what she was used to. As a matter of fact, the town seemed much like rural cities back home. There were many stores that closed their doors early in the evening, opening them even earlier the next day. They were quaint little civilizations, the world’s problems solved over a steaming mug of coffee, and elderly men conducting the business of it. She’d lived those days as a waitress and found she missed them.

Not too far down the road a sign indicated a travel stop. A place just as she’d described. Whitney pointed, Mike nodding at the unspoken suggestion. They closed the distance between the store and them soon after, Mike turning into the roughly paved parking lot. A few vehicles dotted between faded lines, suggesting there were a few customers. As Mike pulled beside a grayed Ford, Whitney felt a bit out of place. She almost felt the same sensation two out of towners would feel stepping onto their turf. A recollection of a sick slasher film seemed to flit across her consciousness, reminding her of Wade’s ridiculous mask and horrifying tale he woven to scare them.

Tossing the thoughts from her mind, she glanced at Mike who had placed the van in park. With a small smile, she opened her door and stepped upon the crumbling asphalt. It crunched under her tennis shoes, Mike’s door slamming shut behind him. They both met at the front of the van, eyes on the entry way to the travel mart. For some reason, Whitney felt the immense sensation of a soldier readying for war, or the possible slasher film options. Perhaps, inside, someone would warn them of where they chose to camp.

Whitney hoped that wouldn’t be the case.

Mike led the way toward the entrance. Various advertisements peeled on dusty windows as they drew closer. Neon signs inside the store beamed out into the sunshine, one flickering with time. A small Open sign listed the hours once they reached the front door. As soon as Mike extended his arm to open it, an elderly man traipsed out, holding the glass door open for the two younger folks. Mike nodded his appreciation, Whitney verbally thanking him before they ducked inside.

The smell of age and sanitary chemicals reached Whitney’s nostrils. Another smell, that of fry oil, caused her stomach to rumble slightly. She hadn’t realized the extent a granola bar didn’t go. Her head had been too wrapped in her own thoughts. She held her noisy stomach, glancing at Mike who smiled at her.

“You can’t hide it from me, sweetness.” He addressed her. “Go grab something. I’ll buy.”

“No, it’s okay…” She began, but a long finger cut off her reply.

“Just do it. I don’t want to hear that thing the whole way back.” He chuckled.

With a sigh of defeat, she branched from him to make her way down to find sustenance. It was much smaller than anticipated. A simple register counter stood to their left with peeling white paint and linoleum floors gleaming in the artificial lights from above. Old wooden shelves loaded with supplies and food lined the center of the travel stop. She turned toward them, scanning the area for anything light. She felt the boys had a larger meal planned for the night. At least, she felt she’d eat her weight in hot dogs.

Coolers sheathed in glass containing various beverages stood lining the back wall. They glistened in the lights; tubes of illumination mirrored on the still surface of the doors. She peered beyond the hard plain into its depths, wondering if she needed anything to drink. Shrugging, she opened one that contained water. A blast of chilly air brushed her hair from around her shoulders, sending a shiver down her spine. She quickly gripped what she needed and hurriedly shut the door.

She meandered through the aisles, bumping into a gigantic armload of goods swaying on legs. Hot dog packages and bags of buns were piled high, leaving her wondering how everything managed to stay stacked without toppling to the ground. Whitney giggled; a comical opportunity right before her eyes that she was sure she should have snapped a photo on her phone.

“Do you need a hand?” She asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“Maybe,” a muffled reply from behind the stack, indicating there was, in fact, life behind the meat and bread. 

Whitney stepped forward, grabbing some of his load before it tumbled to the ground. “What all did they need anyway?”

Mike’s head peeped from behind a bag of buns. “About a million packs of hot dogs, even more buns, and something else I can’t remember.”

Whitney paused, her arms beginning to fill with the supplies. She thought for a moment, wondering about the other items they could have told Mike to grab. There were the usual items: hot dogs, hot dog buns, condiments, and chips. She glanced at his arms, seeing none of the latter. With a nod, she turned to grab a bag chips from a shelf nearby. Placing them in her pile, she slowly trekked across the floor to another isle to grab mustard, ketchup, and relish.

“Okay, that should do it.” She affirmed triumphantly to the waddling man behind her.

“What did you grab?” He asked over a tottering bag of hot dogs.

“Condiments,” She answered, her eyes upon other things on the shelves. Her mind didn’t catch what she’d uttered.

“What?” Came a shocked response. She turned, narrowing her eyes.

“Condiments,” She stated again. “ You know, ketchup, mustard, and relish.”

Mike’s eyes relaxed, their previous diameter slacking a bit. “Oh, okay.”

“What did you think I said?” Whitney’s narrowed gaze intensified. Knowing Mike, she couldn’t imagine what he’d thought she had stated.

His face reddened. “Um, nothing.”

She nodded slowly, not buying his feigned ignorance. Turning away from him, and her previous mission completely forgotten, she headed to the register to begin placing the items upon it. The clerk, a middle-aged man with graying hair, gazed at them through oval eyes dripping with judgement. Of course, his policy kept him from voicing the possible opinions filtering through his head, but Whitney didn’t need to hear him to know exactly what he thought.

“Will this be all?” His bland voice caused the girl’s sentiments to rise.

She felt sorry for him, knowing from experience how he felt behind the counter. She remembered feeling the immense urge to go back home and flee away from the people demanding things from her. Her small waitress job had been an eye-opening event, but one she wouldn’t do again if she had the choice. She thanked the experience, though. Dealing with people had been the hardest thing for her to learn. Her job had taught her that and the friends she’d acquired were worth millions. She’d meet them all again, but under different circumstances.

“Yes,” She replied finally. “I think. Mike?”

Mike, whose breath came heavy from carrying his load, nodded. “Yes.”

Her knight in shining armor fished his wallet out of his pocket, the clerk rolling his eyes as Mike struggled. Whitney turned, her phone buzzing in her own pocket. She dug fingers into it, gripping the vibrating device and glancing at the screen. Her heart rose in delight, a screech of excitement at the tip of her tongue. Someone wanted to video call her, and it had been just the person she’d wished to speak to.

She opened it quickly like a little school girl on Christmas morning, walking away from the cash register and toward the lounge area for customers. With a large smile, her mother popped up on her phone screen. She didn’t appear any different than when Whitney had left. Her eyes sparkled at the sight of her daughter; Whitney’s most likely mirroring the same. The hospital equipment chirped in the background of the video call.

Usually, Whitney would have settled for a simple text message or chat. However, her mother’s best conversations were through a video call. In a way, Whitney could read her mother and her mother could read her. It was what they did. Whitney was an expressive person, a life’s worth of communicating with nothing but her hands and facial features. She’d learned to read others, to hone in on what they truly felt even when their words meant something entirely different. And, if Whitney planned speaking to Diane about anything she’d experienced, it would be beneficial to her to see her mother’s expressions. Because, Diane would find out either way what happened. Her daughter’s expressive nature would soon betray the girl.

“Hi, Mom.” She signed as best she could with one hand. A chat feature showed on the screen as well, allowing Whitney to send the same message.

Her mom waved. The chat text popped up on her screen a second later. _How is it up there?_

Whitney thought back on her experience in the glen. She knew her mother could read her like a book, the ability to hide anything lost on her keen eyes. She wondered how she’d explain what happened, if it really did happen at all. Whitney still felt unsure of what she sensed. Quickly, she typed a message in the chat box. She didn’t want to speak out loud, fearing anyone overhearing to be untrustworthy or willing to shove her into a sanitarium for the mentally unstable.

_I really don’t know how to explain it, Mom._ She typed. _I found something in the woods, in a clearing, and it left me feeling things I didn’t ever think I would feel._

Her mother read the message, eyes roving her own screen. She could hear someone else behind the camera and guessed it to be Nancy holding the phone for her mom so she could sign. Her mother seemed to ponder on the reply she’d give, Whitney’s heart hammering in her chest. If anyone knew the answer to her problems, it was her mother.

_What did you find?_ Diane finally asked. She lifted her gaze to the camera, worry written in the lines of her face.

_A cross. A grave. And a locket._ Whitney signed with one hand. She then typed, in as much detail as she could, what had occurred in the glen. Her mother read in earnest, eyes narrowing in thought. After a bit, she added: _The locket is very old and very pretty but I can’t open it._

Once Diane was done, she began replying with a steady pace. Her explanation pondered upon, as a mother would. _Do you know anything about the area? Or about the locket? Do you have it on you?_

Whitney dug into the pocket of her jeans to find the locket again, grabbing it and showing it to her mother.

 _I found this on my way around the lake._ Whitney typed. _What do you make of it? I think it’s rusted shut._

 _That’s not rust, honey._ Diane indicated toward the clasp. _That thing will open if you just work at it. I honestly don’t know what’s on it. Its pure silver. I think it’s just mud._

Whitney eyed the object, but resisted the urge to scrape a nail across the clasp. She typed. _I guess you’re right. Shows how much I know about this stuff. I’ll see if I can open it later.._

 _Tell me why you feel odd, maybe I can help._ Her mother typed. Eyes regarded her with curiosity.

Whitney shrugged and explained Wade’s story. She relayed a somewhat lengthy summary of the story as best she could, being sure to include the witch’s demise as well as her son’s. Diane’s eyes widened as she read, Whitney understanding her expression to be that of enrapture. 

As soon as Whitney indicated the possibility of the township not too far from their campsite, Diane seemed to tense. It didn’t go unnoticed by her daughter. However, a façade washed her face of any tension she’d felt in a matter of seconds. Her mother knew something, but it was up to her to tell her daughter.

Whitney then explained the glen she’d stumbled upon and the cross. She described what she’d witnessed and what she’d felt. She noted the boot prints that were fresh and the flowers. She illustrated the craftsmanship of the cross and how deep the feelings writhed and carved themselves through the land around her. She also explained to her mother how she’d sung in the middle of the forest, her feelings in doing such unknown to her.

After she’d finished, Diane regarded Whitney’s explanation for a bit.

_That’s some story._ Her mother replied. _Do you believe it? Do you believe anything you feel?_

Whitney shrugged, her signs coming short. _Not really, but I can’t lie and say I didn’t feel something in that glen. I’ve never felt that before, Mama._

Diane fell into thought, a moment passing before she started again. Her signs were slow, deliberate. Whitney had only seen this type of somber atmosphere when her mother had found out about the sickness. The day Whitney, and Diane’s life, were changed forever. The girl shook the thought from her mind, reading her mother’s signs.

_Do you remember me telling you about what us women feel?_ She asked.

Whitney nodded, typing her answer. _Yes. That sometimes, you feel what I feel and know something before it happens._

Diane nodded. _I don’t know how to explain it, but it happened. We both have a deep connection to something far greater than what we are. We always have._

Whitney inclined her head once again and typed: _Yes, I know. But, you understand I don’t believe in this. Right?_

 _Yes, you do._ Her mother smirked weakly. _Don’t lie to me. I’m your mother, after all. What does your “power” tell you, madam?_

Whitney wasn’t sure how to react to that. She knew, deep down, something had taken place in the wood that she couldn’t explain. Her mother wasn’t wrong in questioning the event and her daughter’s feelings. Whitney usually felt things people didn’t pay much attention to. She’d inherited it from her mother. Diane seemed to inquire upon those who felt tremendous regret, or sorrow, and take that to figure out what occurred and help them deal with it. She was no professional, but she had helped so many in the past.

The sensations they felt were stronger, deeper, and often ignored by normal humans. Yet, Whitney felt their auras and their pain almost like she felt the same from objects and items. Could it possibly mean she felt some one’s emotions that had recently visited the grave? This particular thought left her body cold.

_Do you think I picked up on someone else’s emotions who had recently visited?_ She asked on the chat.

Her mother shrugged, slowly answering again. _Who knows? You need to be careful, but I don’t feel as if they would be a threat._

 _That’s odd._ Whitney replied. _I feel different about it. I swear I saw something in the trees. It scared me._

 _What did you see?_ Her mother inquired, curious.

Whitney thought back on the shadow in the branches. A tall figure as broad as the tree trunks standing there in shadow, the sensation of eyes burning into her core. She’d been fearful of it, but she’d not felt as if her life were threatened. It was more shock than anything else. She relayed this to her mother.

_Take it as you will,_ Diane shrugged weakly. _But, whatever it is you need to be mindful and be careful of your surroundings from now on._

Whitney nodded. _I’ll do my best. At least I got to see the lake._

_Really?_ Diane beamed. _Was it really pretty?_

Whitney nodded. She described the area to her mother, Diane listening with intent. At one point, Nancy moved the camera a bit to readjust. Whitney’s mother sighed with a smile, but as soon as the camera righted, they began chatting again. She discussed the company she kept and how different they were compared to what she’d expected. She also illustrated the beauty of the wood and the promise of a bonfire that night.

_That sounds like fun,_ her mother smiled. _I told you that you wouldn’t regret it._

_About what I saw,_ Whitney typed. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. _I’m not sure if I’m crazy or if what I’m feeling makes sense. I have mixed emotions about it._

 _That’s to be expected,_ her mother cocked her head. _Those woods were rumored to have something tragic occur within them. Correct? It is a psychological effect to feel somewhat different in those types of areas._

Whitney nodded, the logical portion in her brain agreeing with her mother. She had believed most of the things she told Diane. Yet, as her mother explained, she didn’t feel danger from the cross. As a matter of fact, she didn’t feel danger at all once she’d set foot in the glen. A sense of security had washed over her, deep as it may have been, but it left her feeling raw in the end. Her emotions bubbled like a boiling pot of water, opening her heart to wallow in the pain the area imprinted upon her. Someone else’s pain. 

_I hope so, Mom._ Whitney finally replied. _I think you’re right. I just need to calm down. I miss you too much._

Her mother smiled. _I miss you, too, but I will be fine._

Mike, who had been speaking to the clerk since Whitney started the conversation with her mother, sidled up to her. He waved at Diane, who followed suit with a sparkling smile. He signed a simple hello like Whitney had taught him. She shook her head, unimpressed, and made to correct him.

“She said you told her you want food, instead of hello.” Whitney giggled.

“Damn, I’m sorry. How do I say I’m sorry.” He winced.

Whitney showed him as best she could and he performed. Diane laughed silently, understanding his struggle and shrugging. _Tell him not to worry and he’s forgiven._

“You’re forgiven. I’ll just have to teach you a little better, I guess.” Whitney told him over her shoulder.

She informed her mom they needed to go, Diane nodding and telling her daughter goodbye.

_Remember what I said._ She informed Whitney with earnest behind her gestures. _Be careful. Just watch yourself._

“Bye, Nancy.” Whitney told the camera woman.

“Bye, y’all. Be safe, now.” She replied from behind the phone.

_I love you,_ her mother told her.

_I love you, too, mom._ Whitney signed. It was the easiest to perform when one handed, a simple gesture and understood deep to the core.

They disconnected, a longing to speak with her mother further still clinging to Whitney’s heart. She missed her mom. Her core ached to return home, ignore the pull and just go back to the comfort and security of her house. Right back into her mother’s arms where she knew nothing could touch her. Yet, Diane’s failing health left a bitter kink in the fastened wall of safety. Whitney felt the need to repair it, to take her mother’s place and be the protector instead of the protected. It was a much deeper, much more important job than she ever realized.

“Found something interesting when I was talking with the clerk.” Mike stated, ripping Whitney from her thoughts.

“Hmm?” she replied with slight interest, stuffing her phone into her pocket.

He pointed to a bulletin board hanging upon a wall by the seating area. An older gentleman sat by himself near the restrooms, the board not too far from his location. Whitney craned her neck to read what the board had to say, but her vision failed. She briskly strode toward the bulletin board, careful as not to invade the elder’s personal space. From what she did notice of him, just shy of starring, he appeared to be Native American. A long, graying braid of hair hung down the back of his plaid shirt, denim overalls faded with years of use. She nodded a greeting at him as he glanced up from his cup of steaming coffee.

Various advertisements were strewn with pins upon the cork board, her eyes roving across to see what Mike had been indicating. Her eyes finally fell upon a simple, white piece of paper. Yet, the contents gripped harshly upon her heart. A sudden feeling of fear sliced down her spine like a creature’s claw. The very same creature that seemed to be slaughtering local livestock.

“ ‘Hunters wanted for the eradication of local livestock killer.’ ” Whitney read. “How bad is it?”

“Well,” Mike leaned in over her shoulder. “The clerk’s got an ear for local gossip. Seems that’s the only thing that gets him excited. He says there are killings every spring season. They just started yesterday.”

Whitey’s eyes widened, the sudden clenching fear gripping harder. The day before had been the very same day she’d felt the sudden energy surge. It’d happened quickly, but left a void inside her as soon as it’d left her body. She’d never experienced something so powerful. Her fingertips sizzled sharply as soon as she touched the bark of the tree she’d clung to.

“Yesterday?” She repeated.

“Yeah.” Mike nodded.

“How much has it killed?” Whitney glanced at her boyfriend whose eyes read with concern and slight intrigue.

“Clerk says about a dozen so far. That’s why they are looking for someone to kill it.”

For some unknown reason, Whitney felt the advertisement wouldn’t help anything.

“Why are do they start each season?”

“It seems the animal hibernates.” Mike shrugged. “I say it’s a bear whose been starved. Usually happens after they hibernate.”

“It is no bear.” A deep baritone filled their ears suddenly. Whitney turned to the source to see the elderly man glancing at them over the rim of his coffee mug. His accent seemed like any others, but with a hint of something just enough to where she didn’t question his ethnicity.

“Excuse me?” Mike tilted his head, voice as quiet and respectful as he could manage with the sudden eavesdropper. 

The man rose from his seat, gliding slowly toward them with a grace she’d never pegged a man of his age to have. Yet, he strode to them just the same. A look of pure honesty read upon his wrinkles, dripping from the bags under his eyes. He had seen the world a dozen times and had lived to tell the tale. Something about him meant truth and wisdom, and Whitney dared not go against that.

“That creature they hunt,” he stated, a tanned finger pointing toward the poster. “It is no bear. It’s evil and had done so for hundreds of years.”

“What are you trying to say?” Mike asked, his face contorted with confusion.

“If you would listen to the stories, they would explain it a bit.” The man scoffed, clearly offended by Mike’s lack of comprehension. “It’s a mountain demon that kills those animals. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Mike seemed agitated, his fists clenching at his sides. However, Whitney didn’t see the reason behind such tension. A nibble of curiosity bit at her heels, her brain whirring with questions. She felt the urge to know, to comprehend what the man discussed. Maybe, she could understand a little bit more about what the sensations coursing through her whenever she set foot upon the campground.

There were no reserves as she stepped forward, eyes cast upward toward the man with as much earnest as she could express through them.

“I’m very interested in knowing about this…demon.” Whitney stated calmly.

The man seemed shocked, Mike mirroring the reaction with his own.

“How do you take your coffee, sir?” Whitney asked.

****

“I sense you already know a bit about this area.” Mr. Whitehead affirmed over the rim of his coffee cup. “You have an aura belonging to the people who once lived here.”

“I don’t know about that,” Whitney quirked an eyebrow. “I’ve never set foot on this land before.”

The three sat facing each other in the small booths inside the store. Whitney calmly gripped a steaming mug of hot chocolate, the heat warming her fingertips while she gazed at the elderly man across from her. Mike had loaded the bags of goods in the van; hesitantly accompanying her while she bought the man a cup of Joe and sat him down at the booths. She could tell Mike wasn’t fond of the idea, but her intrigue clenched her tightly enough not to care.

After small introductions, Whitney expressed her curiosity about the subjects he’d mentioned before.

“What did you say about the spirit?” Whitney pressed slowly. “What did you mean by it isn’t a bear?”

The man eyed her companion wearily. His deep brown eyes encompassed by the baggy wrinkles of his face set his features to soft spoken expressions. There seemed to be a stoic ruggedness to them, though, and perhaps captured there by years of seeing sights not fit to see. Whitney pondered on the man’s past and what brought him there. Where did he come from? Who were his people?

“I own land not too far from the Nameless Lake.” He explained finally. Mike stiffened. “I’ve seen some sort of dark creature lurking among the trees. Some say it’s a bear, but I don’t believe it. It’s too big.”

“What kind of bears are normally spotted around here?” Whitney inquired.

He placed his cup down upon the worn tabletop. “Usually, black bears. Grizzly’s frequent the northeast of the state. Nothing as big at that creature can be any of them.”

“How big do you think it is?” Mike squeezed out, his own curiosity seeping through his rough façade.

Mr. Whitehead flicked his warm browns to the younger man. “A normal male black bear will usually be about four and a half feet long. They weigh around 600 pounds. This thing looked to be about seven feet or so long and I figured it would stand at least thirteen feet or more tall. Grizzly bears don’t normally reach that length or height.”

Whitney pondered on his measurements. “If I remember correctly, the largest polar bear didn’t even measure that much.”

Mike glanced at her with disbelief. “How do you even know that?”

She shrugged. “I like to read.” 

“The creature I saw was much, much larger than any recorded bear. No, I didn’t take a measuring tool with me but I could see it was large.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Whitney stated. “So why is it killing livestock?”

“It’s hungry.” Mr. Whitehead affirmed; eyes cast down at the cup between his tanned fingers.

“That’s normal, though.” Mike almost snorted.

“Every spring season, it comes back.” Whitney stated. “Isn’t that what bears do?”

“This one had killed humans before.” The elder breathed, a touch of sorrow laced between his words. “I’ve heard of the stories in my youth, and I’ve seen the pillars of smoke from deep within the woods. It happens with every new spring.”

“Have you seen the livestock?” Mike pressed.

Mr. Whitehead nodded slowly, eyes glaring at the younger man. “It’s killed my cattle off before. I no longer run anything on my pastures.”

“So, this has been going on for years?” Whitney rubbed her chin, curious juices flowing through her veins.

Mr. Whitehead nodded. “Ever since the tragic death in the township all those years ago.”

Whitney’s focus shifted immediately. “What death?”

He blinked a few times, attempting to remember. “A hundred or so years ago, back when the witch trials were beginning to end, a local healer was killed. The townsfolk slayed her right in front of her son. The son fled into the woods where he was forced into the lake and drowned.”

Wade’s story. The stupid story he’d woven among them while they traveled to their destination. The ridiculous tale of a witch who’d found her demise at the hands of villagers because of the death of one of their own.

“All because she couldn’t heal the daughter of the mayor,” Whitney whispered.

Mr. Whitehead’s eyes widened; brown irises flecked with gold glinting in the shafting sun. “You know of it?”

“Our friend told us the story.” Mike clipped. “We don’t believe it.”

“You should,” Mr. Whitehead calmly declared. “It’s as real as you and I.”

Whitney didn’t doubt the truth behind Mike’s words. The story was nothing but what it was: a story. Yet, she felt her resolve falter a bit. The man before her was physical, flesh and blood. His claims were strong, laced with wisdom and knowledge abounding any doubt she held. If what he claimed to be true was actually that, the legitimate reasons behind her anxiety could possibly have an answer. That didn’t explain the creature, though.

“What does the creature have to do with the story?” She asked.

Mr. Whitehead sipped his coffee. Setting it down, he wove his fingers together. “In my culture, an evil spirit is said to be the bringer of destruction and death. It is born from the emotions wrought from anger and pain.” 

“So, the Grim Reaper in animal form?” Mike scoffed.

“No.” Mr. Whitehead cut. “Not exactly.” 

Whitney glanced down at her hands. “So, this thing is an evil death spirit that is hell bent on destroying stuff? Why livestock now? Why remain in the woods?”

“I think it was born there, but I’m not sure why.” Mr. Whitehead pondered. “Folks don’t venture anymore in the woods. If they do around this time, they usually don’t return. But, it’s been so long since anyone’s been around those parts.”

“So, it’s sating its hunger by killing your animals.” It was more of a statement than a question from Whitney’s lips.

The elder nodded vigorously. “It seems so. Most farmers and ranchers have threatened to move, and it’s greatly impacted the rural community. The tourist business is suffering as well. The Murrell Campsite used to be a very popular place for folks of your age.”

“That’s…” Mike almost exclaimed. Whitney’s foot found his before he could finish.

“I see. Well, thank you for your information.” She offered the man a smile, his eyes softening a bit. “I think we will be headed off now.”

Whitney stood, the men following suit. Mike headed for the door, waiting with bated energy for her to follow. She thanked Mr. Whitehead again profusely, taking his aged hand in hers. She felt a thrum of energy vibe through her, something akin to recognition. Her blood knew his kind. Was his earlier statement true? Had she been there before?

His eyes warmed again, the other hand coming to clutch hers in his grasp. He was gentle, almost grandfatherly in his manner. She could see the wisdom deep within his eyes and, in another life, she would have sat with him to chat for ages. Yet, something else called to her as she noticed the sun’s rays waning. The tug returned upon her soul, calling like a siren for her to come back.

_To come home._

“You can feel it, child.” He whispered. Her thoughts perked. “There is a pulling on your soul that you can’t fight. It’s calling to you, isn’t it?”

Whitney stared blankly at the man, shock and awe riddling her mind. Had he read her thoughts? At that point, she didn’t doubt it. Slowly, she nodded. “Yes.”

“Don’t fight it.” He informed her. “There is so much you don’t understand now, but it will all come to light in the end. Your purpose is deep within the wood, where you came from. Where you used to call home.”

“I don’t understand…” She breathed.

“The campgrounds are dangerous.” He spoke finally, eyes narrowed. “You need to be careful and move to somewhere much less bathed in blood.” 

He released her hand, nodding at her. She remained rooted to the tiled floor; shoes somehow stuck by an invisible force. The clerk scoffed at the elder from behind the counter, remarking on the elder’s crazy ideas and stories running most of his customers off. Mr. Whitehead only peered into Whitney’s eyes, almost slicing deep to her soul to bust it open and spy the red string pulled taut. She couldn’t speak, much less think clearly. Her entire being was placed on pause.

“We will meet again, Miss Miller.” He stated with a smile, brushing past her to head out the door. Mike moved the side swiftly, allowing the man passage.

With a gaze full of questions, Mike glanced at the girl as she stood breathless in front of him. She didn’t notice him sidle up beside her, or his tug upon her shirt sleeve. Her brain remained locked deep in contemplation. The ponderings of their conversation remained a whirlwind of various puzzling thoughts. He had neither helped nor hindered her curious mind. Her questions were neither answered nor left without something to fill in the blanks.

Were evil spirits real? Her mother had mentioned something not entirely good lurking within the wood. Her worry caused Whitney’s resolve to falter. The girl had worked so hard to quell the nibbling fear, but a mere utterance of words from locals had stabbed that calm and thrown it aside like a rag doll. The nibble transformed into something more horrifying, attempting to all but consume her soul. She was scared, but of what she didn’t know. The darkness, the cross in the glen, and something else brought forth a fear she wished to leave alone. What if the elder’s stories were true? What then?

The couple thanked the clerk before exiting the store. A chilly breeze raked itself down Whitney’s spine, tossing tendrils of her hair across her cheeks. She shivered, but at that point she wasn’t sure if it had been the cold or something else. They briskly closed the distance between the van and the store, Mike not wanting to wait any longer to bring the van back to life and skid from the parking lot. As soon as the vehicle touched tires upon the two-lane highway, Whitney glanced to the side and out into the rushing trees blurring past her.

“What the hell happened back there?” Mike’s tone seemed in disbelief. Whitney couldn’t disagree, but she could.

“I don’t know,” She replied. “I’m not sure if I liked it, though.” 

“No, me neither.” He sighed. “Do you think he was just trying to shake us up a bit?”

Whitney didn’t hesitate to disagree. “I don’t think so. He sounded too sincere about it.”

Mike snorted. “That figures. We go on vacation and get away, just to be scared shit less by some Indian and some wanted posters. We can’t win.”

Whitney shook her head once again. “My mom told us to be careful while you were talking to the clerk. I usually listen to her on that, but I don’t know.”

“I hope she’s wrong.” Mike grunted. “I love the woman, but I hope her gut is off by a lot.”

Whitney glanced out at the fading light; the trees briefly illuminated by the headlights of the van before being plunged into darkness again. “I hope so, too.”

Whitney had never questioned her mother’s feelings. Usually, when Diane felt off about something, the outcome would fall right as she’d predicted. For some reason, her mother was very skilled in forecasting what was to come. Diane would repudiate anything that suggested physic power, but she wouldn’t deny the fact that there was something there inside her that seemed much more prevailing than she. Whitney shared the senses her mother possessed, but she wasn’t one to believe in such hype either. She trusted her mother’s predictions over her own.

Yet, as the van neared the campsite, Whitney couldn’t help but feel the screaming of her soul as they pulled into the driveway. The warm sensation of arms wrapping tightly around her core signified she wasn’t crazy. Something told her she belonged there; a string slightly slacked but threatening to slice her in two if she dared not listen. She couldn’t help but ask herself:

What words spoken earlier held the truth?

****

A large, crackling fire roared feet from Whitney’s outstretched hands. The heat crawled up her chilled arms, caressing her and lulling her into a state of much needed comfort. She relaxed upon the rough surface of her log bench, glancing around at the others while they smiled and enjoyed themselves. She still felt the nibbling fear upon her heart, but it had long since quelled with the introduction of the bonfire and possible giddy nature surrounding her.

A hot dog mysteriously appeared in front of her nose, the potent scent of toasted bread and cooked meat causing her stomach to clench with hunger. She followed the hand holding the food up a tanned arm and into the deep brown eyes of Mike. A warmer sensation rivaling the fire spread through her chest and she matched his beaming expression with one of her own.

“Thank you!” She exclaimed, reaching for the sustenance.

Mike plopped down beside her, thick fluffy hair bouncing. “Are you feeling a bit better than you were?”

With a mouth full of hot dog, Whitney could only reply with a nod. Their conversation hadn’t gotten any better in the van while they returned to the camp. The quiet that hung between them thick enough to slice with a knife, Whitney’s thoughts lingering upon the exchange of words in the store. She grew curious about the Native American elder, his eyes screaming truth at his utterance of an evil spirit killing the animals.

There were various ways for livestock to die. Having been around them when she was younger, sheep especially, she knew they were not strangers to anxiety and stress. Those primal sensations usual led them toward an untimely demise. Even with the vibrations she felt, there was no question what could ultimately cause a decline in local stock. Wolves were bound to lurk in the wood even though most would avoid such things because of the scent humans left. When pushed to their limits, however, they would go to extra lengths to satisfy their hunger.

Mountain lions stalked among the trees and Whitney knew for certain the big cats thought baby animals to be prime feeding material. Cases involving sightings of the giant felines were noted throughout Oklahoma, something unheard of in that section of the country. Yet, there they were. Photographic evidence depicting their lithe bodies skulking through the tall native grasses toward herds of beef cattle couldn’t be argued with.

So, with the various options she thought through, Whitney still didn’t understand why someone would go so far as to claim supernatural activity as being a culprit. Sure, myths and legends ran through the woods as thick as mud in a spring monsoon. They were spread by word of mouth, derived from superstition and entertainment for the native people. Many tales were woven through the branches, their spirits slung like thread through the leaves and needles of the pine trees. They were a livelihood, but those livelihoods had died ages ago. Some remained, and that was most likely the reason behind such stories.

What the man discussed with them rushed back into her brain. He’d mentioned various things Whitney only recalled belonging to nightmares, or myths. She’d never imagined someone would rely so heavy upon them to account for the loss of animal life. Yet, in the way the man described the monster, it was as real as he had been. He had no proof, she remembered. He had nothing to demonstrate its flesh and bone was as real as hers.

“You’re lost again.” Mike’s voice was a gunshot against the cacophony of thoughts in her head. 

Whitney jerked, wildly gazing at the man beside her. He pointed to her hands; a quarter eaten hot dog resting between them in her lap. In all her wondering, she had completely forgotten about the food she’d been consuming.

“Oh, gosh,” She sighed.

“Thinking of what the old man said earlier?” Mike asked, a hint of the answer already in his words.

She nodded. “I can’t help it. There’s a lot of stuff he said that I can’t get out of my head.”

“He was crazy.” Mike snorted, shoving the remainders of his hot dog into his mouth.

Whitney shrugged. “I don’t really know what to think. He seemed very adamant on telling us about the evil spirit.”

“Sure,” He brushed it away. “That still doesn’t mean it’s true. I’ve heard many stories of owls meaning death. I haven’t died yet, and I love owls.”

She sighed again, much louder than the first. “I really don’t know. I’m thinking this vacation thing was just a horrible idea. It’s been nothing but me overthinking things since we got here.”

Mike leaned against her, his warmth flushing her skin. Whitney glanced up into his eyes. “Do you want to get away from here for a bit, then? Maybe it’ll help.”

Wade rose from the group to stir the coals of the grill. The wafting scent of charcoal drifted across the chill air, leaving Whitney nostalgic of springs past in Oklahoma. Of course, she couldn’t deny the sensation of elation at being in the mountains. She reveled in the cool breeze, now turned icy from the lack of sun. The surrounding faces of rock were black in shadow, reminding her of an immense fortress erected to keep them safe. She could almost feel herself snuggling deeper inside her cocoon of a sleeping bag that night before drifting off into slumber.

Amanda laughed loudly at something Richie had said. Her face lit warmly by the fire; Whitney noticed a lingering glance toward the man sitting beside her from the other female. For a fraction of a second, Whitney felt curious at the meaning behind such a look. However, the feeling soon passed like a tendril of smoke curling into the deep velvet sky, vanishing among the stars.

Maybe a walk through the woods would do her some good. She smiled lightly, her spirits perking a bit. “Yeah, I think that sounds like a good idea.”

“Oh,” Wade cooed after the two, returning from the fire and placing his empty beer bottle next to five more. “Where are you two going?”

Mike beamed, turning toward the trio remaining at the camp. “We are just going to see the sights.” 

“‘The sights’, he says,” Wade smirked, voice slurred from the drink. “You two go do that. I gotta’ go take a piss. See you two love birds later.”

“Wade, dude…” Richie called after the wobbling man. “You’re drunk. Are you sure you can navigate on your own?”

Wade paused and waved the other man off. “Nah, I got this.”

He belched and turned to go. Whitney watched after him, a sudden coiling in her gut at the sight of the retreating comrade. The further away he went, the more the darkness seemed to swallow him. Her gut reached for him, but he vanished before she could say anything. What was the feeling?

“Wear protection,” Richie chortled to Mike and Whitney. “However small it may be, you still need to wrap it.”

Laughter followed the couple as they exited, Wade heading in the opposite direction to do his business, mask long since discarded upon the logs. They paid no mind to the oppressive gloom that seemed to fall upon the trees, sending the natural flow of everything into a spiral of fear and potential chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay safe and stay tuned for more!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet the thing you all are going to hate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Its been a while! I'm so sorry for the late update but...its been crazy. I'm getting married next month and its been a mess trying to get everything done in time!  
> But, for those who have kept up with me, thank you.   
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. I kinda dont like it as much as I wanted to but its crucial for the story.  
> I dont have a beta- so all grammar errors are mine.

“Horror was rooted in sympathy . . . in understanding what it would be like to suffer the worst.”  
― **Joe Hill,**[ **Heart-Shaped Box**](https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1412280)

Jason felt the elation flit through the treetops, and he spurned it.

It had been years, no, eons since he’d felt the jubilation of merrymaking within the wood. In the past, newly reborn Jason would have rushed to the site and slaughtered them because of their glee filled noise tainting the sanctum of his sacred ground. The ruined void in his chest ached to do such a thing, but his motivation lay wasted upon the ground. He no longer wanted to kill, knowing fully it was not what he was there to do. All he could ponder on was the girl.

His mind hadn’t halted his thinking of her. She haunted his brainwaves and dreams. Every waking moment became flooded with auburn hair flecked with red and forest green eyes a deep as the leaves of the trees towering above him. Her song splintered the sour remains of his soul, burning at the base with a fire he’d never known. It threatened to ignite his entire being, but he quelled it as best he could.

She wasn’t of his world. He knew this much. Some invisible barrier slammed itself between them, keeping them from interaction. If he did, there would be consequences. She would shun him for his face, hate him for how he was, and never understand his pain. She could never heal him or do what he wished someone could do to complete him and make him whole.

While he continued to deny everything he’d conceived the girl be, he couldn’t ignore how a new sensation had begun to flood his veins with warmth. The steady thump where his heart should have been signaled something had changed. He wouldn’t go so far as to claim it to be alive, but he couldn’t disagree its sudden movement left him baffled. A new wave of unease flushed through his body, causing uncertainty to rise when he’d been so sure before.

Anger took hold within there as well. He knew the feeling all too intimately. It seared a hole within him full to the brim with self-hate and loathing. He wished to be different, to live a life at the other end of the spectrum. He yearned to be normal as the people he’d learned to hate. He wished to feel the act of performing daily life among civilization, how it would change around him and he could witness it right there among the crowd. 

He would never know the life outside of the woods. He couldn’t. He felt his end date had been stamped far past that of which it should have been, like an old ruin tumbling to the earth as it was reclaimed by nature. He walked, ate, slept, and thought among the living creatures around him but he was nothing more than a remnant of what he used to be. A hulking mass of emptiness he’d never shake.

Their jovial music and thumping enthusiasm burned him, rubbing salt in the wound inflicted by his loneliness. He let his eyes scan his location, not a few miles away from the lodge and his mother’s cross, absorbing the night sky. A bloated moon hung against the velvet nocturne, putting the twinkling stars to shame with this illumination. Silver light spilled upon everything it could touch below and he could hear the waters of the lake lapping against the shore. A small, chilly breeze urged the waters to roll, his tough skin immune to its bite.

Despite his feelings of fear flowing through him whenever he stepped close to the dreaded waters, he pushed forward. He had no earthly idea why he trekked so far from his makeshift home. Something called to him, luring him deep into the forest toward the merrymaking. He tried to ignore the taut string as it pulled him onward. His boots slurped through the muddy wetlands bordering the body of water, his focus not entirely on anything but pressing headlong into whatever drew him.

The pull he usually ignored. It hadn’t been unbearable to live with, only a faint buzzing like that of a bee collecting pollen from a flower. Yet, there were traces of something in the tug he couldn’t press down. He knew the signature, the scent it brought with it, and the thrum akin to a feline purr. This strum flowed through his veins warmly like sun-heated water. It felt ethereal and he should have known what it was. He didn’t, though, and the curiosity he couldn’t quell drove him.

Finally, nearing the border of the area once known as a campsite, he faltered. His keen ears tuned in to the thumping beats of music, melodies he’d never heard and were somewhat obscene. Words he couldn’t comprehend flitted through lyrics making no sense whatsoever. To him, some of the tunes were disgusting.

Up ahead, his acute eyes spied the warm glow of a fire casting the trees and other foliage around in cozy light. He didn’t have to be close to spot the figures twirling around the leaping flares of flame, some people remaining stationary upon large trunks of fallen trees. Shadows danced with the blaze and he wished for a moment he could step up to the heat and bask in it. Even though he’d gotten quiet used to the chill after years of exposure, it didn’t hurt to feel the warmth cascade over his skin like a caressing hand. Maybe, it would spark some sort of life back into his core?

There weren’t very many of them. At least five from what he could observe. Two were closely gyrating against each other, a move Jason wasn’t familiar with. He’d never witnessed something so oddly disgusting, yet he couldn’t stop watching it as they whirled around each other. There were no spaces between them, the two seeming almost like lovers. Of course, he didn’t understand that concept either. He’d never had the opportunity to have one let alone even attempt to court a woman. His face seemed the constant reminder of that, his untimely death another.

The others upon the logs were joyful, faces cast in orange from the firelight. They hollered and hooped at their comrades. He narrowed his eyes toward them, hating how happy they seemed to be. Through the swaying needles of the pines, he saw the girl. His breath hitched. She leaned against another person, a male, and Jason felt himself growl. It was deep sound, emerging from the very pit of his soul. It shocked him, but his eyes grew wide as he witnessed her smile and heard the tinkle of her laugh. If only he could be the same and be among them as one of their kind. But, he couldn’t. He was not like them.

There was no doubting it, though. She had been the reason he’d been drawn there.

Jason hissed in disgust and torment, turning to leave the area. In years past, he might have killed them all because of his repulsion. There would have been no survivors left and their bodies would have been burned. Now, though, the idea didn’t interest him. An urge to place as much distance between them as possible stole his focus, ripping his eyes from the girl. The pull all but wailed at him to remain and he felt himself fight to turn his back upon the campsite. His lodge and his bed called, his body feeling the immediate ache of his worry and the nibbling chill. He was tired, more tired than he’d ever remembered being. He was unsure of the reason, but his body ached in a way he’d never felt.

In younger times, he’d loved parties. The village would throw them for holidays and the like. They were joyous, lively, and always filled to the brim with laughter. At times, a large pine tree would be centered on the town square dotted with various strings of things and glittering objects. A star was placed at the very top, glowing with firelight from the adjacent torches. Large boxes were placed where the roots would have been. They were usually adorned with large, flowery bows he didn’t find very pretty. Yet, he wished he would have received some of them.

He’d gotten various gifts from his mother for years. They ranged from a new bow to shoot for hunting, to new ingredients for healing salves. He would help his mother with her work using these salves, learning many things from her. He could do various odd jobs with her help, her lessons being the greatest gift.

His mother had forbidden him to attend the festivals, though. When the time came, he would hide away and listen to the revels. He could remember as it was the present wishing he could dance jovial among the children of his age. The girl, his little friend, would have been there. He could remember her auburn hair flowing behind her as she beamed sunshine into the night with a joyful smile.

He briskly traversed the pathway down and away from the campsite, attempting as best as he could to ignore the stinging pull. Gritting his teeth against it, he continued his trek down a small hill cluttered with broken twigs and dead leaves, past the pathway he’d take to his mother’s glen. The thicket grew heavy around the area, causing sharp spines to nab his pant legs and slow his pace. Growing annoyed with the jabs and pokes, he quickened his steps. Immediately, he became atypically loud with his footfalls. This only seemed to infuriate him more. He was a hunter, a survivor, not a blundering idiot who let things overtake him easily.

Yet, he wasn’t surprised. His emotional state since his mother’s death, and his, had been stoic. Emotions were pent up and kept at bay and he believed they only posed as a hindrance to his everyday life. Thus, he kept it beneath the thick armor he’d placed over the deepest parts of himself. To have something come along that rattled him so violently, he wasn’t astonished to feel something jolt within him. If he hadn’t been so big; it would have swept him from his feet. Figuratively speaking, it seemed to feel as if it had already. It only appeared to antagonism him and limit his focus on the things he frequently kept precise. 

Eventually, his fumbling treads brought him into a clearing farther from the people. The moon shone bright upon the slightly damp blades of grass, the same creek cutting through his mother’s glen doing the same to this one. The glassy water sparked in the illumination. A clump of trees hugged the crumbling edge of the brook, shading a portion of the creek from the moon’s caress. He sighed, his body reading defeat. Stepping up to the group of trees near the stream, his shoulder thumped harshly against the hard wood of a trunk. Spray brushed his cheeks from the torrenting water, the cool sensation upon his skin trumping the inferno raging within him. He only wished to relax before heading toward the lodge. For the first time in forever, it seemed to be a longer walk than normal. He could still hear the music tumbling through the night air, his ears homing in on a sultry melody bouncing from the leaves.

A few minutes passed, the noises of the night erupting into their own symphony of crickets, frogs, and owls and beginning to drown out the horrid sound of their music. He allowed himself a moment of peace, listening intently upon nature in an attempt to drown out the awful noises. He couldn’t imagine life among civilization being so loud, yet he felt it to be as such. He’d seen the publicized papers of large, concrete jungles filled with smoke and motor beasts. He couldn’t fathom the cacophony of various things that would drown him in it. He wasn’t a fan of drowning, so he’d chosen not to see any more of the papers.

Rustling caught his attention. He keenly attended to the sound with his ears, the snapping of twigs echoing from the surrounding trees. He’d taught himself to walk silently. He hunted better that way. Again, he found himself unable to comprehend why something could be so lurid. He knew the creature trekking through the forest didn’t belong. They were too loud, their aura a mess of irresponsibility and insensibility. Their smell wafted forward through the breeze, and Jason knew immediately they didn’t blend with the natural order around him.

Jason pressed himself further against the trunk, the firm wood digging into the hardened muscles of his back. His breath evened, newly beating heart hammering. If they found him, he couldn’t imagine what they would do. He didn’t want to slaughter someone without reason anymore. His only wish was to remain unseen and unbothered, left alone to bathe in his own solitary life. His unplanned walkabout was beginning to turn into a hindrance, his annoyance with the alluring pull transforming into hatred.

A sudden muttering filled the void, jerking him back to the chill night. Creatures around the interloper ceased their normal caroling, dropping immediately to signal the entrance of something that didn’t normally belong. An unnatural scent wafted through the trees and with it, the quick beating of a heart. The cracks of twigs still reverberated through the glen, echoing against the trees sickeningly.

A lanky man stumbled within into the clearing. He was tall, a short crop of dark hair atop his head. Wire frames encased his eyes, glasses glinting in the silver moonlight. Jason stiffened, his body going rigid to avoid detection. The man glanced around, eyes roving across the glen but avoiding the onlooker under the tree all together. It didn’t ease Jason’s anxiety, however, as the man tumbled forward with shaky legs and toward the stream. His scent was caught by Jason’s keen nose. He reeked of body odor and something else entirely, perhaps a drink of some sort. He’d remembered the fragrance dancing around men drinking spirits, something his mother had called beer.

Jason observed the man sidle up to the very edge of the creek; long legs clad in a dark fabric. A zip of something caused Jason to tilt his head, listening intently. Then, the tiny trickle of water split through the quiet of the night. The crickets began their chorus again, obviously comfortable with whoever the being was while his silent onlooker seethed.

Jason knew what it sounded like to urinate. It was but a simple, small task to alleviate a need that turned painful if not heeded. Of course, he did it like any creature. It was natural and ordinary, like the leaves and the sky. However, Jason’s duty would usually be performed away from the streams and rivers, away from any sort of thing that would botch his respect for the forest and life around him. If anything, he did his duty in dirt. It was still disrespectful in itself but excreting his waste liquid upon a living being or a source of nutrients would be taboo. Heresy against the very thing that kept him alive. Why would he?

His fists clenched white knuckled against the shadows. If the belligerent vagrant had noticed, he would have spotted the furious glint of irises in the darkness of the trees. Jason’s heart throbbed with boiling anger, his body stiffened and ready to thrust his wrath forward in a massive block of muscle and hatred. How dare the trespasser defile the water with his excretions. It was enough to allow him to bumble into the wood and go about with his merrymaking. It was another, all together, to disregard the ground that which was sacred to the man who watched.

Even if the larger of the two had concluded his purpose was not to kill, it didn’t bother him to contemplate slaughtering the man before him. As the gatecrasher finished his business, Jason stood slowly and quietly. His machete slipped free of its holster, no sound escaping as Jason held it steady within his shaking fingers. Rage still boiled in his belly, compelling him to stomp forward and run the man through. He’d not felt the thrill in so long. He figured he’d be slightly rusty at it; the predator he once was dwindled down to a mere being attempting to survive.

However, something much larger seemed to hold the same idea. Had Jason been paying attention to the dead noise that fell heavily upon the glen again, he would have chosen to rethink his initial intentions. Yet, as he glared at the man who dared defile the waters crisply gurgling through the clearing, he caught movement in his peripherals that caused him pause.

A suffocating sensation began to crush the air from the observer’s lungs. He knew the feeling, yet he hadn’t sensed it in months. Mostly, the time he spent wandering melted together into one giant existence. He knew day from night, but as for a certain time period he had no clue. Initially, he hadn’t understood the concept of months or years. He only knew of them from the civilians who dared enter the wood. Naturally, certain aspects of the earth would transform, giving way to new temperatures in the air and various alterations to the landscape. The humans called annual passages of time years, and within those years there were months. Subcategories to break a year down further. Jason honestly didn’t understand it much.

The asphyxia curdling anxiety within his breast he had not seen or felt for months. Winter fell cold and wet, with white blankets of ice swathing the ground in crystalline beauty. Civilization referred to it as a season. Yet another category to describe time. When the green began to tinge the hills and trees, he would understand that to be spring. Another term of change. It was then, the gloom fell upon the mountain side. However, this time, it seemed to be much earlier than normal.

The familiar darkness draped the glen, clouding the already dank feeling whirling among the chilled trees. Nature itself shuddered, already forced to silence its usual sonata due to the ominous approach. Nothing seemed to squeak, the whispers above his head holding their metaphorical tongues. Jason, too, appeared to frost over with anticipation.

The man seemed to take heed of the sudden alteration of atmosphere. He was slow in his sudden observation, though. He turned lazily around, zipping up whatever lay in the front of the garment adorning his legs. The glass upon his nose gleamed, sparking at just the right moment to catch the eye of the lumbering shadow. It took form, coagulating into a hulking mass and stepping forward like death upon the chilled ground. Tremors of misfortune rushed through the blades of green and Jason felt his heart clench. 

He knew this feeling. It simply wrenched every decent sensation from his bones. It left him raw and shaking, tearing through his resolve with long claws bathed in blood. He could hear its horrid breathing, feel the hairs upon his nape stand on end. His spine tingled. He wanted to run. But, for some reason, he could not. He knew what was to come, yet he was powerless to stop it or halt its pursuit. He could see exactly what was about to take place and all he could do was watch like an audience in an arena hailing a gladiator.

The creature froze in place, shadows cloaking it from full view. The man attempted to catch a better glimpse, calling out to it. Jason hugged the trunk of the tree harder with his spine, fearing any further subtle movement would end in his fatality. His breath hitched, bated by the potential of giving himself away. His mind dared not focus on anything but the approaching shadow.

In a blur, the thing roared inhumanly and bounded toward the man. It was then the interloper figured something to be off, a yell of shock escaping from his throat as he attempted to clamber away in fright. However, the man’s efforts were in vain. As he tried hurriedly to scramble and run, the damp grass beneath his feet served as a hindrance. Its slickness caused him to flounder, his arms flailing above him while he attempted to flee. The beast appeared much faster, as well. It cleared the distance and it leapt upon the man like a panther upon a deer.

An agonizing scream tore from the man’s throat as gleaming claws pierced through his spine. A splinter of bone signified a horrible break as the razors punched into the fleshy portion of the man’s back. Blood spurted from the wound, body quivering from the sudden shock. He fell to the ground in a heap, mewls of distress beginning to mingle with the sudden stench of blood.

Jason couldn’t rip his eyes away as stained fangs flashed, sinking into the meat of the man’s upper shoulder. The prey bellowed again, a shriek grating like fingernails on glass. Jason wanted to flinch away, cover his ears with his hands to drown out the noise. He couldn’t, though. He didn’t risk a move. If anything, he only stood in rooted shock as the thing impaled the young man and proceeded to fling him like a ragdoll across the glen. The body rolled, the dark mass upon him instantaneously.

The animal stood over the man; huge forearms planted on either side of the struggling victim. He flailed and kicked, attempting in vain to beat away the attacker. With one large paw, the creature flipped its prey to his back where he could face the horror head on. However, the interloper continued his fight. A foot met the face of his attacker, causing the creature to jerk backward for a moment. This small second gave the man a chance to flee, his body leaping from where it lay to bound toward the woods.

In an instant, the beast was upon him once again. Giant jaws clamped down upon one of the trespasser’s arms, its owner wailing horridly in pain. Jason blinked, and within that blink, the creature slung the man upward and through the air to crash upon the ground. But the human kept struggling. The beast’s jaws unhinged to gain a better grip, allowing the man to leap up again to run away.

With one swipe of its paw, the creature struck down the interloper. Its jaws latched upon the same arm it had earlier while the man attempted to fend it off. With a sharp jerk upward, the thing ripped the arm completely from its socket. The man’s scream tore open the world around the glen, echoing from the timberline and shaking the leaves upon them. It ripped at the onlooker’s ears, causing his eyes to slide closed for a moment.

As he opened them again, the beast had procured its victim underneath it once again. The man struggled, but he failed. Jason could barely make out the features of its face, knowing its form had taken on a larger being this time. Somehow, at the sight of it, the prey beneath its grip struggled even more. The man cried again, and gleaming drool fell in thick threads upon the glass protecting his eyes. He pleaded for his life as the thing observed its prey. Then, its maw widened, a gaping black hole lined with glossy fangs.

The portal to death.

“No, God.” The man blubbered through the thick blood pooling around him. “Please!” 

His pleas fell on deaf ears, the animal’s head lurching forward. One hand came up to block the beast’s advances. It was a weak move, Jason knowing it would not be successful. Fangs sank into the flesh of the man’s forearm, shredding it with its fangs out of annoyance. With the mangled arm out of the way, the animal descended upon the man’s throat. Aggressively as if angered by its prey’s fight, the beast clamped its jaw down upon the vulnerable area, tearing bone and flesh from the section and flinging it upon the grass beside the body. Sprays of blood began to sprinkle the once beautiful ground around the battle, dying the grass an inky black. With his throat torn from his body, the man’s screams were permanently silenced, the last sickening gurgles from the ravaged form fading into the night.

He was dead.

A shrill quiet fell upon the glen, broken only by the babbling stream and Jason’s hammering heart. It had all happened so fast, leaving the onlooker winded and eyes strained.

Jason normally didn’t feel afraid. Fear was a renunciation of reason. Reason wasn’t his best friend, but he chose to use it more often than emotions. With how illogical things would become on occasion, he grew used to preparing for the unexpected and thus, became numb. He usually never felt such a sentiment, anyway.

Yet, he couldn’t shake the slice of unease that raced up his spine at the horrifyingly thick noiselessness. Nothing dared make a sound, the breeze falling short of a whisper through the leaves above. It was stagnant and frozen as the creature loomed over the body. The limp figure thrashed, as one would do after death’s hand slowly closed upon them. After a few moments, it finally ceased.

The creature’s neck recoiled slowly, assessing the damage. Blood blemished its ivory canines, pools of it dripping upon face of its quarry. The body lay in a lifeless pile of limbs at its massive feet. Jason remained immobile, the scene he’d witness too often before reminding him of the folly following sudden movement.

As if to warn him, the creature’s head moved upward. Red eyes bored into his soul. Jason felt them slice through the shadows, locking with his. A threat given by just a simple glance, one meant to stave off any kind of interruption. Jason heeded it, standing fixed against the tree. This was how it always seemed to be. An unshed agreement fell between the two. The hunter became the submissive witness, the larger alpha’s threat hanging between the two like icicles upon a tree branch.

To the surprise of the onlooker, the beast did something much different than the times before. Like a fishing hook, the monster’s fangs sank into the upper flesh of a leg. It turned, proceeding to drag the body with it. Jason had no idea what the creature planned to do, but he felt he shouldn’t have cared. Yet, it was something different. A change in their normal dance. It usually didn’t take anything with it, leaving it there for Jason to clean up.

With widened eyes, Jason observed as it made it to the edge of the trees. The shadows consumed it, leaving nothing but a trail of dark blood to paint the blades of grass in its wake. Jason remained still, attempting to quell the thundering of his newly beating heart. He waited and waited. The silence of the wood hung heavy upon each limb and leaf, the creatures of the night remaining as still as he was and unwilling to move on until they were certain the danger had gone.

Much later, the symphony of the trees began again. It was almost funny to think they would start once more as if a slaughter had not taken place upon the very grass they used as shelter. The unwilling observer unhitched himself from the trunk of the tree. The chill of the mountain air flashed over his spine at the sudden lack of anything solid beneath it but it served as a stark reminder of what carnage had transgressed before him.

Jason exhaled, his eyes falling upon the trail. Something lurched inside him as his eyes traveled to the edge of the glen. The monster had returned. After however long it left, the seasons were changing. But its arrival was quicker than normal, and Jason couldn’t place a finger upon it. Were things transforming around him? Had something occurred to awaken the beast before its presumed date?

Jason’s mind flickered back to the girl. Her presence he recalled leaving a heavy vapor upon the air, her scent bathing the wood. Prior to that, a shock of energy spliced through the trees and undergrowth. It awakened something inside him, a calling he’d never known. Seeing her in his mother’s glen stoked that fire, causing his heart to thump after years of remaining stationary. Perhaps, her arrival meant something to him. Maybe, it meant something else to the creature.

Was she the cause of its premature rising? 

His heart froze, his breath with it. The trail of blood led away from him to the opposite side of the glen. The jovial music chorused from that direction, as well. Jason usually never cared much if the beast ventured toward people. It only meant more things he had to clean up.

She was there. He could feel her pulsing among the darkness like a glowing flame. He couldn’t push down the ache building within his chest. A dire urge to assess the safety of the girl rushed him like a cold, mountain wind up his backbone. Why was her wellbeing so important?

If the beast headed in the direction of the camp, and the girl was there, it shouldn’t matter to Jason. He didn’t care and couldn’t. Nothing good was to come from being considerate of human lives. Yet, with how potent her presence in his mind had become, he couldn’t shake the sudden screaming in his brain. His mother’s words returned to him, reminding him of a purpose he’d felt himself undeserving of. He couldn’t rid himself of her aura or the very beating organ she’d brought back to life.

With knowing her to be there, and the possibility of a doom more horrifying than death itself charged headlong toward them, Jason knew exactly what to expect. If its quarry belonged to their group, its killer came with thundering hatred to finish the job and slaughter them all. The monstrous being fed off fear and drank the blood of those who fabricated it. Its lust for destruction only spurred it onward. Jason could remember the carnage of its blood feasts, bodies littered like fallen leaves upon the blood-soaked grass.

_Protect her, Jason._ His mother’s voice echoed through his mind. _Keep her safe._

For once, Jason felt a crippling fear he’d not know before. If he never felt it again, he would be at peace. This fear was of the unknown and that of what he must do. His heart beat rapidly, his mind knowing the cause of its awakening.

The girl was not just another body to fall at the claws of the beast. She was a light at the end of the long dark pathway Jason had traveled for his entire despondent existence. He’d gone so long without having anything to strive for. Seeing her, smelling her, and feeling her warmth had stirred him like a bubbling cauldron. 

She was something different. But was that something different worth following the trail of carnage to aid it? He wasn’t sure. If she was not, which he knew better, he could stay and allow them to be slaughtered. But, the very thought caused him to jerk painfully. He couldn’t allow it.

He crossed the distance from the tree toward the scene of the bloodshed, his eyes falling to the limb that had been ripped from its original attachment. Claw marks marred the pale flesh, blood spilling upon the dew strewn grass and smearing it black under the moonlight. He dared not look upon the other piece of the man that had been ripped from him. His nostrils flared and he inhaled the copper tang. He lifted his gaze toward the trees, the dark liquid staining the foliage there as well. With a sigh, he barreled into the throng of darkness after the deadly creature and its bounty.

If he got lost, all he had to do was follow the smell of blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed. Please leave comments and kudos!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I'm so sorry for you all that liked Mike. But, it had to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm finally getting to where I can update some chapters until I can actually write them and post them after.   
> The next few chapters are going to be EPIC, and SCARY, and full of ACTION!   
> So, get ready.

“Was it hard?" I ask.  
Letting go?"  
  
Not as hard as holding on to something that wasn't real.”  
― **Lisa Schroeder**

The immense quiet of the wood sang loudly in Whitney’s ears. Leaves whispered among the shadows while the blades of grass seemed to sing to a melody all their own. Whitney carefully stepped over fallen trunks of trees and brambles, doing her best to avoid the sharp spines threatening to catch on her jeans. Crickets and owls caroled through the cool night; the stars’ bright illumination unburdened by the glow of the fire they left behind.

Mike had been right. The night was more beautiful without the hindrance of their conflagration. The trees thrust upward like dark arms toward the heavens, swaying with the mountain breeze. Their looming seemed like guardians, her skin prickling with her sense of security. If Whitney felt safe among the towering hills surrounding them, it only deepened with every step.

They had passed the bathrooms she’d frequented various times before. The darkness within still unnerved her as she glanced into its depths. Mike noticed, clutching her hand a little more to relay a stronger sense of protection. She was thankful for that and for having him there. It felt different for another being to accompany her.

After the bathrooms, Whitney spotted another trail she’d never seen. Large boulders draped in dark lichen stood among the underbrush. Some were smaller or about the size of her head. Others were clearly heavier and more dangerous if dislodged. Fuzzy pads of moss clung to the various other rocks they spotted down the trail and something the girl had missed entirely stood just down the way.

An ancient wooden bridge strung between their side and the other. The same mossy patches from the stones before clung to the elderly boards. She wasn’t sure what time period the bridge belonged to, or where it actually derived from. The area they resided in had once served as an old campsite many moons ago. Perhaps, the bridge had served as part of it.

A babbling brook gushed underneath, it source being the polished lake a few steps beyond. The planks were slick with the spray, moonlight causing the wood to gleam glossy in the night. An elation Whitney hadn’t felt before began rushing her heart like a blast of warm air. The bridge was beautiful and horrifying at the same time. It excited her and tandemly caused her heart to race.

Cautiously, Mike stepped forward. His eyes brilliantly shone with a sense of adventure. He urged her with his widened browns, tempting her to follow. If it were anything else, she would have balked at his silent plea for companionship. Yet, she felt the sense of exploration running through his veins. He all but screamed it and she couldn’t resist. She shot him a beam, knowing full well there had been nothing keeping her at bay from venturing forward with him.

The old boards creaked under their feet, shivers of anxiety flitting through Whitney as she clung to Mike’s arm. Chill spray fanned upon her cheeks, her eyes leaning over the ancient railing to gaze at the gushing water below. Smoothed rocks from eons of violent torrents beamed with moist varnish, a few patched with green algae. Limbs and twigs collected from the lake bumped against even larger rocks, threads of the moss trailing with the current of the water like a shawl in a brisk wind.

They crossed to the other side without issues, alighting upon another trail. The lake lay before them, its water rolling to break the glassy surface it had held earlier that day. The silver moon above glistened from the waves as they crashed against the muddy shoreline. Whitney and Mike did their best to keep from losing their shoes in the soggy earth, the croak of frogs echoing from the tree trunks sending shivers down the girl’s spine. In Oklahoma, frogs larger than her palm were commonplace. However, she’d never taken them for a creature to endure the chill of the night. Perhaps, they were a special kind of amphibian.

She felt the pull heavy upon her heart. It tugged like a toddler upon a sleeve, urging her backward toward some location she didn’t know. She’d done so well to ignore it as the two meandered toward the lake. It was almost annoying as it jerked uncomfortably upon her. She focused her mind on the task at hand, which was _not_ to slip and fall into the water.

Mike remained quiet for most of their walk. His footfalls were heavy, and Whitney couldn’t shake that something weighed upon his mind. She’d known him for a good part of two years. Understanding his expressions and body language didn’t fall short of a girl who learned to read them daily. If anything, she knew he wanted to talk to her about something but held no means of conveying his information. Whitney let him mull his thoughts over and left her voice out of it. If she asked, he would only tell her he was fine. That, she knew, was not true.

They finally reached a stand of shore completely open and free of trees or mud. Blades of dew slicked grass dashed with blue sparked in the silver moon. An ancient fallen log rested toward the center of the little clearing, demanding to be sat upon. Whitney took little time to hurry toward it, her beau following slowly behind.

Once the hardened surface of the trunk was planted safely beneath her rump, Whitney glanced up into the sky to observe the winking stars. Occasionally, some would flash much brighter than the rest and gave off the gesture of being slightly egotistical. She almost felt the bubble of a snigger at the base of her sternum. What a brave little star.

She only wished she felt the bravery the interstellar lights exhibited. On occasion, she would only show it to prove herself worthy. With many others around her attempting to defile her name or degrade her for her gender, she couldn’t stop the boiling infuriation beneath her skin. She was emotional and soft, untrained in the ways of confrontation.

Her mother’s sickness caused others to view her in pity. Their smiles never reached their eyes, nor did their prayers truly reach the heavens. Others would simply state their business and never follow through. Sure, there were some who held true to their word. They were the ones who she considered to be close friends. However, the others flaked away like paint left to the elements.

Her brother’s leaving sealed her solitary fate. It forced her to grow feral when defending herself and her mother. It also set in stone the fact that she was the only one who would stand up for their family. Clay had always been the tough one. At least that was what Whitney grew up believing. When Diane was diagnosed with her sickness, he broke in two. Speeding off on his motorcycle seemed the only release he could fathom which left Whitney to become the head of the household. Their childhood bond severed once he’d left the driveway of their Oklahoma home.

As word spread of her mother’s illness, Whitney couldn’t help but feel the horrid sensations of anger and hate toward those who spoke ill of Diane. This feeling built inside her until she could no longer keep it. She found things to do, buried herself in her work to quell the loathing. She wasn’t one to hate, but their words were bitter upon her tongue and her abhorrence only grew to be just as nasty.

“Whitney,” Mike’s voice reached her, a beacon among the cruddy mist of her thoughts. “Where are you right now?”

She chuckled shyly. “I’m here.”

“Are you?” He beamed, taking a seat next to here. His voice radiated unease, something she could feel more than anything.

“I’m here.” She assured him. “Right in the middle of nowhere. With you.”

“Sure,” He sniggered. “You’re a million miles away. What’s up?”

She shrugged, listening to the chirps of crickets and croaks of the chill adapted frogs. Everything around them appeared peaceful, a stark contrast to her raging thoughts from before. She drank in a lungful of cool, mountain air. It bathed her insides with tranquility, calming the roaring of her internal warning systems. With every breath, she could feel her fears melt away.

“I’m okay.” She finally sighed. “Just still shaking from the elder today.”

“Yeah,” Mike’s browns glanced up toward the sky. The stars sparkled there, too. “His words kinda’ got to you, didn’t they?”

“They did.” She agreed. “I really don’t know how to take them.”

“You don’t.” He stated. “Some things you can get over, and some things you can’t get out of your mind. It’s up to you what you do with it.”

Whitney glanced at him, her eyes narrowing. What was he referring to? If she were being honest, it almost felt as if he, too, fought his own internal battles. Usually, he would voice those battles to her. If he held a raging war within, he wasn’t speaking of it. Whitney could only guess what the war’s theme consisted of. There were many questions she wished to ask him, but all fell short. If he wanted to inform her of it, he would have. Maybe it was something he had to deal with and defeat on his own.

Instead, she sat back to gaze at the same stars his eyes captured. A soft breeze flit through the leaves of the trees and she drank the scent of pine and sap. She could feel the vibrations tremor under her skin. From the dainty frolic of squirrels among the tree limbs, to the brisk stride of a mule deer, she could feel it all like a live wire. Each tiny pinprick splintered into her core. She became one with the flow and it _called_ her. It beckoned her like a flicker of a flame to a moth. If the elder had been right, she felt as if she were _home._ Something tiny tinkled in her blood. A recognition as minuscule as the smallest of bugs crawled under her dermis and brought forth confusing thoughts and feelings.

Yet, it didn’t scare her. It excited her. Her sense of exploit deepened, and with it, her jitters were pressed down. They were not completely forgotten, just placed within a box to save for later. Even though Whitney knew she didn’t want to linger on them, she would feel them afterward. They were a part of her and refused to dissipate entirely.

“Yeah,” She finally replied. “I guess your right. I just have a feeling that some of his words were true.”

Mike tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

She blinked. “Well, he talked about this place being home. I’ve never been here, but it feels so familiar.”

“That’s odd,” Mike said nonchalantly. His mind was elsewhere. Another clue of his internal issues.

“Yeah,” She agreed. “So, I really don’t know how to react to something I’m not sure about.”

“What about the talk of that creature?” Mike added. “Do you think that’s true?”

She scoffed. “Hardly.”

“But…” Mike interjected. “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

She smirked. “ _But_ , I also think he’s not completely faking it either.”

Mike nodded, eyes losing their light once again. Whitney was hit yet again with another sensation of dread. It was unlike him to be so quiet. She fidgeted in her seat, feeling the air beginning to turn colder. A shiver ran up her spine, a sensation she felt when the air turned to a biting chill or when she felt something awful sought her out. It fizzled away before she could fully grasp it, but knowing it to be there only filled her with even more unease.

“Whit?” Mike’s voice was yet again bringing her back to reality.

“Hmm?” She offered, forest greens flitting

to his wider ones.

“I, uh,” He stammered. She’d been so used to his confidence before. The thought of him lacking unnerved her. “I need to tell you something.”

Unease and confusion rumbled through her. She wanted to remain positive, hoping he had something he’d been battling with internally figured out, or at an impasse. A flicker of hope lit her heart, the tiny flame gently swaying back and forth. She smiled, attaching herself to the tiny ignition.

Yet, she couldn’t help sensing the bite of trepidation. Nothing worthwhile came from his statement, and nothing ended properly either. She attempted to read his gaze, eyes roving his face for any sign of what whirred through his brain. He was impassive, stoic. Only the hint of sadness glinted in his eyes, which didn’t help the sudden racing of her heart. She figured the worst, but of what, she didn’t know. She didn’t want to and she did. All she could do was sit there and accept it.

How she wished to be anywhere else.

“I…uh…” He stammered again, hand rising to rub the nape of his neck. “I don’t really know how to say this and it’s really hard to, anyway.”

Whitney’s throat clenched, her stomach rising to the base of her trachea. Her voice came quietly. “Go ahead and say it.”

His gaze ventured outward, far beyond the trees. He was somewhere else entirely and nowhere, it seemed. Waves of various things crashed around her. Unease, depression, and blood chilling deceit. She could sense every single one of them as if they were her own, yet she knew they were not. Her heart threatened to burst from her chest with unwilling anticipation. The waiting game for the eventual heartbreak and the silence before the storm.

“Whatever it is,” Whitney attempted a smile. “You can tell me.”

But, if she were being honest, she didn’t want him to. She wanted anything and everything before it to return. If anything, she wanted to be back by the fire and its warmth to fight back the deepening chill that suddenly decided to creep upon her skin. She feigned confidence, feeling the crippling anxiety thundering against her temples.

His eyes fell to hers, unshed tears brimming at their rims. It was then that her initial feelings from before were confirmed. His stoic façade fell broken into tiny pieces at her feet and he appeared to fracture as well. She shivered; her nerves bundled like dynamite ready to ignite at the flip of a flame. She readied herself for what was to come, if anything.

“That’s the thing.” He managed a weak smile, full of utter defeat. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Go ahead,” She heard herself say.

He looked out again toward the lapping waters of the lake. The chill night fell silently around them, the nocturnal creatures paying them no mind as they sat there in two different worlds. She wished he would speak, and she wished he wouldn’t. She wanted to be somewhere else and nowhere but where she sat. If anything, she felt confusion at her feelings and only yearned to go back to her tent and sleep.

“I’ve not been loyal to you, Whit.” He finally spoke, guilt dripping from his very words. 

The air left her lungs instantly. The weight of what he he’d said crashed around them ten-fold and suddenly, everything seemed too lurid. Whitney yearned to press her hands to her ears, to do anything just to rid herself of the barrage deafening her. Her stomach plummeted to her feet, limbs going numb. She suddenly felt hyperaware of everything in an instant, knowing full well of the emotions rolling in from the man sitting next to her.

“You were too busy with your mom and school, and you were never around…” He explained painfully. Each word was a dagger upon her soul.

For once, Whitney found herself sickened by the man beside her. Since they’d begun dating, she’d always felt a sense of security in him. He was warmth and strength, everything she lacked as of late. With him, she could be herself away from her mother’s sickness and the baggage of school work. His cheerful smile would always brighten her day no matter what negativity started it off.

As she glanced into his eyes brimming with gleaming tears, she couldn’t recognize him. All too instantly, his face read nothing of what she knew before. His hair fell in various, but unfamiliar ways as his features struck her oddly. He was a stranger with her memories, and a betrayer to everything she’d tried to build between them. The memories they’d fused and constructed began to crackle and fracture. The noises around them heightened and Whitney could only feel the sensations of loss. A great black hole began to form and tears failed to come.

Had she known all along? Something told her she’s recognized if from the start. Her female intuition grasped at what she should have seen and failed to. The late parties, the lingering messages, and the straying glances at another woman should have screamed at her. But, her troubled mind remained in the forefront with her own problems. If anything, it deleted the curious thoughts all together.

“Amanda?” her voice was barely audible among the creatures of the night. She envied them as they went about their lives while hers crashed down in flaming ruins around her, the pieces of charred shrapnel splintering her core.

His expression was all she needed to confirm her question. A pained wince as if he’d been struck riddled the planes of his cheeks. His eyes creased, the very eyes that’d gazed at her with such depth before. Deep within, Whitney wanted badly not to believe him. It was just another joke, right? 

His expressions never lied, though. For as long as they’d been together, he’d always been honest. He was large of heart and very large of comedy, but to lie to someone broke him like a vase. So, knowing his words to be true only seemed to drive the spear of betrayal deeper into her heart as it bled out upon her tennis shoes. She wanted, for once, to hear him tell her he was fibbing.

Nothing came. Only the crashing thickness of despair and disgust, her breath finally coming in ragged gasps. The air fell stagnant between them while she waited to grasp onto any sort of sanity she had left. Whatever she could grab, she would hold onto it, for she had nothing at the moment and the utter abandonment draped her harshly.

She stood curtly, her legs quaking irrepressibly. Focusing on remaining upright, she felt herself glare into his eyes while he rose with her. A plea dripped from his expression, seeking any sort of fight or reassurance. He didn’t want it, she thought. Nothing she had to bring forth would suffice in conveying how she felt. Nothing could fill the void that already frothed to the brim with unfaithfulness and darkness.

Yet, somewhere amidst the throng of her despair, a pang of guilt lifted its sails and traversed the horrid storm within. She could have prevented it. If she hadn’t been busy, had a mother in good health, and had been there when Mike needed her, she wouldn’t be in the middle of nowhere crumbling. It was her fault. It was her error in failing to comprehend that he’d chosen the side of another over her. That realization and the crippling sensation of it gripped her harshly around her throat.

She deserved it, didn’t she? For all she could feel was the need to accept it.

“Say something, Whit.” He whimpered, trails of his tears staining his tanned cheeks.

She couldn’t breathe. Everything pressed in upon her, suffocating her. She needed to flee. Her legs burned to run far away, to leave the woods and never return. If only she could make herself move. No matter how hard she attempted, she remained rooted where she stood. Something kept her there. Something unseen, like a hand resting upon her elbow to steady her.

A holler erupted through the wood, bringing it to the attentions of the duo near the lake. Whitney paused, her thoughts stilling as the cacophony of creature noises dropped away. Mike’s chin jerked toward the source, Whitney’s following suit. They listened; breaths hitched in tandem. When silence only met their awaiting ears, It was simply just the others, she figured.

“Whit,” Mike’s plea barely a whisper as he turned back to her, “Please say something. Cuss me out like I know you want to.”

Whitney sighed; aggression was not what she felt. She was tired. Whitney felt herself slack. He’d failed to realize how exhausted she’d gotten. She was defeated, chained by her own failures and lacking any sort of rebuke. Her own guilt drowned anything she could have said anyway, leaving her internal workings to bubble and gurgle for air.

“Mike,” She managed to squeak. “I really don’t…”

Another sound blasted through the woods. This time, Whitney’s blood froze. Birds roosting for the night erupted from a stand of forest not too far from them, fluttering into the star filled sky. The tug upon her heart tightened with the force of a draft horse pull, sending her gasping. She remained standing, to her relief, but another noise ripped through the quiet of the wood. It rattled her to the very marrow of her bones, leaving her frozen with terror. Something else slithered itself inside their small area, seeking their company. A darkness far larger than that of any shadow she could fathom began to writhe at her feet. She’d felt it before but wasn’t sure of where. Its malice grew thickly, like a brush full of thorns at the base of a tree.

As if to answer the questions in her head, Whitney felt the pull against her heart jerk. With it, primal fear arose to bare its ugly fangs.

Something wicked was coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! Stay tuned for more!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are like water in the desert.  
> Every bit is appreciated. Thanks for reading!


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